Death Sat and Hell Followed
by grumkinsnark
Summary: The Final Battle come and gone and Hermione the only one left, Voldemort spares her with the one thought that she’ll live with the pain. One incident, however, occurs and she is left with only the year 1977. *On hiatus, unfortunately.
1. Apocalypse

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter One: Apocalypse

* * *

_

A piercing shriek wailed through the eerie silence of the battleground, accompanied only two seconds previously by a chant and the sickening sound of body hitting earth. The scream itself was so painful, so heart wrenching, that it was enough to chill anyone's bones. But not that of a monster. Not that of Voldemort.

A small figure fell to her knees in despair, covering her face with bloodied and shaking hands, desperate for the agony to end…desperate for this to be a dream. This wasn't happening…this couldn't be happening…she would wake up soon…but she never did. She faultily dragged her worn hands from her normally pretty face, which was now swept over with a ragged layer of dirt, sweat, and bloodshed.

Her usual glittering brown eyes held nothing, nothing except death and peril entwined inside them forever and for eternity, never leaving, the once-happiness never returning. She stared fearlessly into the face of the murderer who so brutally massacred the only people she had grown to love without a second thought. To him, they were just the next number on his growing hit list. To him, they were but mere checkmarks next to names. Ron and Harry. She could just envision their names on a piece of parchment, the evil laugh echoing inside her brain, ticking off his latest kill.

She would not cry, she was past that. She could not do anything at this point. She didn't even think she could scream, but after that final body fell, she could do nothing else. She had single-handedly watched everyone she had ever loved, everyone she had grown up with, fall to the ground, the light vanishing from their eyes, never to be seen again. It was this final body that wracked her body with more sadness. Not that the others hadn't been painful—they had been excruciating. But she knew she had to grieve later and care for herself and everyone else at that moment instead of dwell. Now, she reflected miserably, she could do nothing.

Her eyelids fluttered, not of fatigue, but of emotional slaying after emotional slaying she had endured. Bitterly, a feeble, nagging thought at the back of her head was telling her that this was far from the life of a normal seventeen-year-old. She couldn't believe there were still people in the world smiling, playing, being happy. Not when there was so much death and despair standing right in front of her—correction, _lying _right in front of her.

"You…bastard…" she managed, her breath coming in weak but stable. Not leaving his cruel, blood red stare, she stood up, caring not of the ripped, once-white blouse she was wearing, now caked with dried blood, dirt and new grime. She was sickened at the man's smirking, bleached face kicking his latest kill across the face.

"Ah, a survivor," he cackled mercilessly.

She felt the immense anger rising in her, unlike anything she had ever felt before. The adrenaline was rushing through her veins, all senses put on indefinite hold, her vision tunneled onto that one inhuman figure in front of her. "You…will…pay…" she threatened harshly, all of her fury focused in on him.

"Oh, yes, I am so afraid. But what is a small, unimportant Mudblood going to do to me? Me being the all-powerful Dark Lord? I do believe you so intimidate me," he said, his decaying teeth glinting in the dying sun.

Her face became devoid of any emotion once again; not even anger was showing. She vaguely noticed a flicker of intrigue flash in his pupil-less, crimson eyes, but couldn't honestly care less. She could not think well, and she felt as if her brain was both on fire and buzzed at the same time. Her eyes were starting to glaze over, and her limbs seemed to no longer work. Idly, her gaze drifted to the body nearest her. The one of her sometimes dim-witted, but otherwise best friend, Ron Weasley. Her face contorted into one of overpowering pain as she took in his mud-streaked, deathly pale face and flaming red hair.

Even that was fading, though. His green eyes were opened; shocked. His mouth was open slightly in surprise, and she could almost sense the fear radiating off of him in his final moments. He had fought so well. Even their best friend, Harry, was surprised at him. He was selfless, he shot curse after curse, not aware of the consequences. He was just protecting his baby sister when a spiteful laugh came near him. He looked the owner in the eyes, and that was the last thing he saw—the greedy, scarlet eyes of the mass assassin that had ruined all their lives.

"He was just protecting his sister…" she whispered, not aware it was audible.

"So she speaks," the man in front of her mocked.

Now she looked at him, at his pleased face. "HE WAS JUST PROTECTING HIS SISTER!" she yelled, her words reverberating off of the countless bodies scattered over the now red-tinted hill.

"Aww…now that just warms my heart."

"You have no heart! You are a cruel murderer who never should have been born in the first place! You have no part in this world!" she continued, her deathful stare streaking into his. Though in some deep-seeded part of her knew it was impossible, she in that moment felt as if the anger of everyone good who had perished had infused into her body, joining her own.

"Ouch. That hurts, Miss Mudblood. Say, why _are _you still around, anyway?" he asked, and he would have raised his eyebrows…if he had any.

"Because I'm not fucking afraid of you! Because I am stronger than you in many more ways than one, and because I am a damn good friend, you evil son of a bitch!" she screamed at him, her words piercing the air in every crevice possible.

The savage entity in front of her almost showed amazement in the obviously weakened witch, but did not show it much, if at all. "Congratulations, witch. Is that the first profanity you've uttered in your lifetime? My, my, you have been sheltered."

"Shut up, you foul, sadistic coward! You have no idea the HELL you've put me through! But then again, you get your little laughs out of that, don't you? You get kicks out of other people's pain, don't you? Could that possibly be because your cowardice is too steep to face your own? Hmm? I do not have the strength to give you a psychoanalysis, though you desperately need one. But what are you waiting for? Why don't you just go ahead and kill me? I'll just be a bonus on your _Kill Bill_ knockoff list, won't I? I'll just be your early birthday present, shall I?"

"Oh no, I won't kill you. I want you to live with the 'agony,' as you proclaim. Take a good look, Mudblood. Take a look at the glorious death in front of you. And once you're done with the once-over, tell me and I'll show you this little prize in front of me. Shall I tell you now? It's too good to resist. I have finally killed the famous Harry Potter. The stupid, idiotic little boy who was supposed to be my downfall. Hah! Like they thought an immature minor could really dispose of me just like that? My God, the Ministry's really gone to the dogs, haven't th—"

He was cut off by a particularly gruesome curse she sent after him, hitting him square in the chest. "That is for Harry, you sick asshole! And this—_Sectumsempra!—_is for Ron! And, lastly, _Voldemort, _I would like you to eat your own words…_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" she shouted as loud as her shredded vocal cords were able, as if willing the whole world to listen to her anguished hexes.

However, much to her sorry dismay, he dodged her final Killing Curse at the right moment. Although, with the tiniest bit of gratification, his arm was singed by it, and, as if it were splashed with scalding acid and burned with iron, his skin turned a sickly red-and-brown color, dormant bubbles under the surface. She cringed in spite of herself, but was also, frankly, pissed off that he did not die as she wished. She mentally apologized to Harry and she promised she would kill the man that apocalypsed her whole life.

"You…bitch!" Voldemort cursed, and for the first time since Hermione had ever heard of him, he actually portrayed emotion, anger as it were.

_Shit, _she thought to herself, _I've pissed of the Dark Lord…not good._

"Ouch. That hurts, Mr. Hellfire. I'm so frightened of you." Truth was, she was in some ways, not that she'd let him know. He shot a hex at her, but she ducked just in time. "That's the best you have? You are seriously overrated, my dear," she said in a mock-baby voice.

At the onslaught of a particularly brutal curse, she hid behind a tree, fingering the necklace she had. "Is this where it will end? Is this where I am to die?" she said softly to herself, the severity of her situation finally kicking in. "Well, I can't stay in hiding forever. I will avenge you, Harry. I will avenge all of you!"

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" she heard his out of breath voice call to her.

"My name is Hermione Granger, you killed my friends, prepare to die…YOU BASTARD!"

She once again aimed the _Avada Kedavra_ at him, and this time, in the split second it took for him to snap his head to look at her, it was a split second too late. The fiery green jet of light originating in her wand entered him straight in the heart, the evil light vanishing from his fathomless eyes. She stood, her hand outstretched, shocked as she witnessed his chalky body fall to the ground, bent out of shape, but joining the endless mortality count nonetheless. She could not believe it. His reign of terror had ended, bringing with it an almost…peaceful silence. She had sought and found the murderer that killed everyone she knew and slain him. She killed Lord Voldemort.

Still in shock and walking in a trance-like state, she made her way over to the milky white corpse of the once-powerful Lord Lucifer. With her blood-dripping shoe, she kicked his head over to one side, just to make sure he was dead. After all, if one baby wizard could survive the Killing Curse, who's to say the most "successful" Dark Wizard couldn't? He didn't stir. His chest didn't rise and fall like someone who was alive would have done. His open, scarlet-but-now-fading eyes were still, and as she bent down and pressed her fingers to his impossibly frigid neck, there was no heartbeat whatsoever. It certainly seemed like he was dead forever.

Slowly, her joints screaming in protest, she got up from the ground, taking in the gruesome surroundings. The sun was setting, its pink and orange colors shining over the battlefield, shimmering of the coppery, sticky blood that littered the grassy floor. She gazed into it, and watched until she saw the mythological green flash as it set over the horizon. Her eyebrows rose feebly as she witnessed that miracle, and somehow, some way, she believed that the threat was finally over. It just seemed anticlimactic, she supposed. _Harry _was the one who was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord, not his know-it-all friend! She didn't understand it.

Suddenly, she felt a freezing hand close around her neck, and her heart started racing as her eyes widened. _No, _she thought, _it can't be…he's dead! I killed him!_

"Clever little witch, aren't you. Too bad you only killed my Horcrux, bitch!" he whispered scathingly into her ear.

She closed her brown eyes in realization. _Of course. His seventh and final bit of soul…it means he's mortal now, but then again…he _is_ the one with the power to end my life right now, and I can't do anything about it. Fantastic._

"Kill me, Voldemort, I don't care. You can't hide anymore. You're mortal! You'll be found! You're not going anywhere! But if you'd like to continue your massacre here, go ahead…add me to your final body count. At least I will die in the honor that I killed you. That your stupid, nine-lives imitation is finally defeated. That _you _are defeated!"

With her final ounces of strength, she elbowed him where any male human being would hurt, and then kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling a few steps back. He stared at her. "Nice parlor trick, Mudblood. I commend you."

"Sure you do. And, by the way? That whole 'Mudblood' thing? Getting old, Voldie, getting old. With your inflated head, I assume you can come up with something cleverer? Or were Mudblood and bitch the only two you could think of? Sad, really."

He sent a death glare at her, but she visually deflected it, her neutral stare killing the overall effectiveness of his. "You think you can outsmart me? It is true, I do applaud you for your killing my final soul, but that doesn't change the fact that I am not only almost thirty years older than you, but I have thirty years more experience than you. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Oh, sure I do. The ever-powerful Dark Lord whose mother died in childbirth and whose father left her because he was under a love potion, leaving the young and stupid Tom Riddle at an orphanage…an outcast but teacher's pet at Hogwarts, killed Myrtle, came to power and tried to kill Harry but it rebounded and but he had split his soul seven ways, yadda yadda yadda…" she recited in a bored, monotonous voice.

His dulled eyes narrowed in fury, and his abnormally long, white fingers tightened around his wand. "You'll pay for that."

"Why?" she asked tonelessly. "Why? What does it matter? It's all true, you know it, I know it, lots of people know it. Everyone felt sorry for you except for Dumbledore, isn't that right? And you turned evil because you were—well, _are—_a coward. Same story for every evil being that has come to sovereignty. And you'll fit the same, sticking end."

"Oh I will, will I?"

"Yep," she replied, faking happiness.

"You know what, I've changed my mind."

"Oh?"

"I will kill you."

"_Now _I feel special. How should I pose? Afraid of you, I assume? Or should I die gallantly, with a mock heroic expression on my face? Really, how would you like me?"

"You _dare_ mock me now, witch? When I have the upper hand?"

"Ah, so he _does_ add a word to his vocabulary. Witch. How exciting."

His eyes flashed, _almost_ literally red, as he raised his wand. His anger level rose as he watched her idly fidgeting with her nails, her total focus all on them. He had no choice, he reasoned. He was weakened, and he acknowledged it. He'd have to kill her. "_Avada_—"

It was as if she was watching and listening to the scene in slow motion. She noticed his colorless lips forming the Killing Curse, his words slowed and tunneled in her ears. Indolently, but quickly and for no apparent reason, her hand moved again to the odd necklace she wore. She toyed with it in the mere nanoseconds she possessed before the curse hit her, and to her unwilling and unnoticing surprise, she had accidentally turned the dial on her Time Turner backwards instead of forwards. It was not supposed to work that way; it was only meant to be turned forwards.

Her eyes widened as she flicked her gaze up to him, only to see his surprised expression turning into an angry one, his wand backing down, and his lips forming odd words, as if speaking them backwards. As she watched the scene before her, she observed the battle taking place, but the kills were now in reverse order. She saw Voldemort cackling over Harry, then Mrs. Weasley killed, then Ginny, then Ron…she lost track of all the bodies that fell to the now brightening earth. Finally, she succumbed to the numbness but nauseas feeling in her stomach, and she felt herself passing out. Or, at least, she assumed that's what happened.

In what seemed like hours, she felt as if she was being sucked out of a vacuum, and she plummeted towards a grassy earth below her. Apathetically, she thought, _this is going to hurt._

And, indeed, it did. She crashed to the ground on her hands and knees, though her already fragile bones gave in to the renewed force. She felt her carpals break, and she crumpled beneath herself, her knees feeling bruised, cut up, and now fractured. She hit her head hard on a rock, and she could vaguely feel the blood trickling down her face before her vision this time really did go black.

* * *

This idea somehow just came to me, and the James/Hermione pairing was requested to me by my favorite author (you know who you are), and so this will eventually fall under that category. PM me with any suggestions, complaints, comments, whatever. By the way, I love reviews if y'all want to drop by and give me some. =)


	2. Hope

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Two: Hope_

* * *

"Oh good, you're up! Finally! You've been out forever..." a crisp voice echoed mercilessly in her head, its last word slapping around in her brain like a cold metal pinball, her head being the machine.

Shaking herself painfully out of this hurtful frame of mind, she shot up in her bed, grabbing her wand out of the table next to her, pointed it at the speaker, ignoring the horrible headache growing, which rapidly made her head feel like it was going to explode at any minute. Her back and face stayed straight even though she, although not being in the medical field at all, could tell some of her muscles were torn, and the way her wrists crumpled underneath her as she moved them to support her, along with the unbearable pain accompanying it told them they were broken, and not in just one place, either. But, despite all her injuries, her senses were on full alert, trained perfectly from both Harry and assorted members of the Order. She stared defiantly and ready for a fight at the person whose voice replayed itself over and over in her mind.

The middle-aged woman in front of her backed up a step or two, her eyes widened. She put her hand up to her heart in surprise. "Oh, good heavens, child! Lower that wand at once! I swear…if it weren't for Dumbledore's orders, I'd have the rule saying students can keep their wands by their sides while here banned for eternity!"

Hermione frowned, putting her wand down a fraction of an inch. The woman certainly didn't seem like a threat, but Hermione was well aware of the fact that people weren't always what they seemed. She'd learned that the brutally hard way. She had learned to expect betrayal rather than be shocked every time it happened. It was easier that way; then at least you were prepared. Sure, it hurt sometimes not knowing who to trust, but in the long run, it had made things better…although, now she thought about it, everyone dying didn't exactly seem better…

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she accused commandingly, giving up her continuing battles in her brain.

"I—don't you speak to me like that, young lady! I don't care who you are or how you came here, you have no right to take that tone with me! Now, kindly give me that wand and lay back down!" the woman said sharply, regaining her rule.

She stepped closer to Hermione, who stubbornly kept her wand out, and though it looked as though the woman's movements were a little apprehensive, they were bossing nonetheless. The woman's retreating threat, Hermione was starting to feel the full effects of the immense fatigue and ache all over her body now that the adrenaline was gone, and it seemed like she was going to crumble from all the pain she was experiencing. The muscles in her arm screamed in agony, and in an instant, it also fell to the bed, the rest of her body following. Hermione, somehow, kept her dull eyes open, though she desperately wished she could just go to sleep and forget her heartache. That was worse than any physical injuries. Ten thousand times worse. At least with injuries, they got fixed over time and with medicine, but internal ones…those never healed. Time heals all? Ha! Hermione laughed at that. How blatantly wrong that was. Time only made things all the crueler and anguishing. It was all she could do to just not take the Killing Curse on herself to relieve her of the results of the entirety of it.

Suddenly, the events of the Final Battle came rushing over her like a huge tidal wave, pouring salt in her already open wounds. "Harry…Ron…NO!!!" she yelled suddenly, ignoring the woman still in the room, an abrupt change in demeanor overtaking her, her chocolaty dry eyes starting to well up with tears long expected. "No! Don't leave me! You can't leave me alone with him! Don't…don't…leave…me…"

Tears now poured down her dirt-streaked face, leaving visible lines through the grime that apparently no one had cared to wipe off. She shouldn't have been surprised though, considering no one had cared at all in times of recent… The woman that was still in her company looked sympathetically at the girl that was breaking down, even though she had no idea what Hermione was rambling about, Hermione now staring at an invisible something in front of her, seeming to be talking to no one in particular. Madam Pomfrey started to walk away, deciding that even though the girl needed immediate attention, she should be left alone.

Unexpectedly, the young woman snapped her head towards the graying-haired lady in front of her, her eyes frantic and searching everywhere. "No…you can't go! Don't leave me alone! Everyone…gone…come back…don't…don't…you can't…" she mumbled incoherently, certainly not something the walled Hermione would do under more dire circumstances. She knew she was being ballistic and her personalities were changing like she has bi-polar disorder, but she couldn't help if she was going crazy. It wasn't her fault.

"Oh—okay, dear, what do you need?" the matron asked carefully, not wanting to upset Hermione further.

Hermione's breathing started getting faster, and she appeared terrified of something. "I need them! Bring them back! Hurry! He's coming!"

"Who do you need? Who's coming?"

"HIM! I need Harry! Harry and…and…and Ron and…Lupin and Sirius and Mrs. Weasley and…I need Ginny! Tonks! Where's Tonks? I need them all!" Hermione screamed, sitting up violently in her bed and, ignoring her wrist pain in her delirious state, grabbed the older woman's shirt, now yelling in her face. "BRING THEM BACK! BRING THEM BACK TO ME!"

"I—dear, I cant, I don't know who you are talking about! You must calm down, now. You have to calm down," she replied, calmly, but afraid for the girl's sanity.

"Calm down? I can't _calm down! _Bring…I…tell them…" she broke out in sobs again, her back giving way, and she stared at her hands. "Where…where am I?"

The woman sighed in relief, at least hoping the girl was gaining her straight mind back again. Maddened patients she'd had were never her favorite, even though she had managed to never lose one, and Hermione seemed to be one of the worse cases, but she hoped she'd bring herself out of it. It was often the strongest ones that realized their own problems, subconsciously or not. And if Hermione was one of these, Poppy was glad for it. At least then she'd be able to fix her other wounds and get her healthier again.

Poppy spoke again, leveling her voice and gently disengaging Hermione's hands from her starched uniform. "You're at Hogwarts, sweetie. In the Hospital Wing. And quite a state you're in, I must tell you. One, if not the worst I've seen. I'm sorry, dear. For whatever you've been through."

"I—I—_where_?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously, thinking she'd heard wrong. She could feel her body getting back into the right, sane, psyche, and now that she was more focused, she knew she wasn't hearing things.

"Hogwarts," The nurse answered again, calmly. "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember…them…them all…dying…he killed them…HE KILLED THEM ALL!" Hermione yelled, but her words were choked by another onslaught of sobs. This wasn't her going insane again; this was her breaking down out of irreparable sadness.

"K—Killed? Who was killed? What are you talking about?" Pomfrey asked, more fearfully, purely wondering what Hermione's grounds for her claims were. They certainly were astonishing.

"Everyone!" Hermione cried, as if it was the most obvious and real thing in the world. And for her, it was. "Everyone…they're all DEAD! How can I be at Hogwarts?" she asked oddly, changing subjects on a whim. "Hogwarts is destroyed! Crumbled! There's nothing left of it! He demolished it! How can I be here?"

"He who? Child, I promise you are at Hogwarts. In the Hospital Wing. My name is Madam Pomfrey, and I'm the matron here. You don't remember anything else?" Poppy supplied, hoping it might at least stable the girl.

"I told you what I remember, woman! Do you not listen? The only Pomfrey I know died trying to help all the injured and Lestrange killed her! Bellatrix Lestrange! All she was doing was trying to keep up valiantly with all the fallen, and Lestrange _murdered _her! What are you talking about?"

"Bella? Sure, she's—she's still here. She couldn't have killed anyone. It's just a figment that you're having. Just lie back now," Madam Pomfrey advised, deciding carefully to sort out Hermione's problems later and let her recuperate physically first. Her outcry of Bellatrix's name definitely stirred a confusion, but she'd let it lie for now.

"What do you MEAN? Lestrange…that…that…that bitch is dead! Lupin killed her! After she murdered Poppy…he was so strange. I've never seen him like that. What the hell are _you_ talking about? Let me out of here!"

Pomfrey spluttered, blinking fast, trying to focus on something different than Hermione's outbursts. "L-Language! Please, do not use such profanities in my presence! It doesn't matter how sick you are."

Hermione scoffed. "HA! Profanities. That's exactly what he said. Before I killed his soul. And I'm not sick, damn it."

"S-Soul? Honey, wait here, and don't move. I'm going to get the Headmaster."

"Wait—Headmaster?" Hermione asked, suddenly changing her demeanor rapidly, her attention rapt and yet stoic, like she was trying to suppress hope.

Madam Pomfrey stabled her own voice, not wanting to get Hermione into hysterics again. "Yes, Armando Dippet. He'll know what to do."

Evidently, her efforts were in vain, as Hermione got frustrated again. "Dippet was Headmaster twenty years ago! I don't understand what you're SAYING!" Hermione screamed, holding her head in both pain and confusion.

"Just wait here, child. I'll be right back," Pomfrey replied, pointing her finger to Hermione for emphasis. She didn't want to leave this girl all alone, but she had no choice. She couldn't handle this alone, and a figure of more supreme authority had to know about this.

She bustled out, and Hermione rolled her eyes as she jumped out of her bed. Or, rather, toppled out of it. She was still in her bloodied clothes; obviously that lady who ascertained she was Poppy Pomfrey hadn't changed them. She tried to ignore her throbbing bones, but she honestly couldn't. She couldn't use her hands—her wrists were broken, and the way she was incapable of moving some of her fingers, some were dislocated. Her ankle pained her like no other, and she figured it was sprained, if not worse. It seemed like the only part of her that wasn't hurt was her brain and her organs. Except her heart. That had been shattered irreparably when the first person close to her had fallen to the ground, dead—Tonks. She and Hermione had become so close over the past months, and they, along with Ginny, had bonded so well. Hermione remembered wanting to yell in anguish and horror at Tonks's fallen body, but couldn't as she was then immediately engaged in a mini-war with none other than Lucius Malfoy, Tonks's killer. She had vaguely noticed that his good-for-nothing son had fled in cowardice as soon as he saw her, the first real Order's death. She scoffed at the thought, though in the back of her curious mind, she wondered what became of him. Had Voldemort found him? Killed him? Abducted and inducted him into his sick fan club? She didn't know what had happened to Draco Malfoy, but she figured nothing good.

But Hermione, in spite of her wracking hurt taking over her fragile body, made her way, limping no less, over to the stark white door. Frowning at the predicament of not being able to turn the doorknob, she muttered a silent spell, which she had mastered ages ago, and tried to smile as the door opened by itself, but was unable to do so. It was like those muscles around her mouth were rendered useless from inability to have any reason to smile. With her wand now held awkwardly and unmanageably in her hand, she conjured splints for both her wrists and her ankle, and wandered out, still ignoring the obvious complaints from her joints and limbs. She was about fed up with such things. Scratch that—she _was _fed up with such incapabilities.

As soon as she got far enough away to actually take in the full outside of the building, she nearly fainted from the sight. The tiers and stonework and emanating brilliant magic were unmistakable even by the most blind. This was Hogwarts. The words repeated in her head like an old friend. It had been so long since she'd referred to it as if it was still not in ruins. Was it truly possible? What had really happened? Her fingers slipped up to the necklace she was still wearing, a nervous habit of hers. Slowly, her mind flipped over in realization and her mouth dropped, her eyes widening as far as they were willing to go. She hurried—ish—back into the building and, finding a set of double doors, inched forward, and looked into the crack between it and its equally heavy counterpart. The Great Hall? She almost didn't want to imagine the possibility. She gasped as she saw, through about a two-centimeter gap, a room half-full of people laughing and eating. In the back of her mind, she still couldn't believe that there were still happy people in the world. There for sure weren't a large number of those back in her world, even muggles. Even they had felt Voldemort's reign, even if they didn't fully understand it. Hermione tried to come up with an equivalent in muggle terms, and finally found one that was only a semblance. Voldemort was like, to give a rough estimate, the thousandfold version of Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Benini Mussolini, Mao Zedong, and the Bolsheviks all infused with the deadliest, evilest magic around. But that was only a fraction of the terror that constituted Voldemort. Which, given Hermione's natural knowledge of muggle history, was one of the scariest thoughts she'd ever had.

But, returning herself to her current predicament, she re-concentrated on it. All the possibilities running through her head oddly kept coming back to the last thing she did. Twisted her Time-Turner. She almost rolled her eyes at the effect of it; how stupid; how absurd; how ridiculous. And yet…plausible?

_Fantastic, _she thought cynically, her mind trying to wrap around it, _I've gone back in time twenty years. How wonderful. I've now attracted the matron's attention, who's alive, and she's going to get the clueless Headmaster. Unless Dumbledore…who is alive in this time…Dumbledore! He's alive! He'll know exactly what to do. There's no way in hell I would rather wait idly for some lame-ass, oblivious has-been to look at me like I'm psycho and prescribe me some magical remedy. No. Dumbledore is the Transfiguration Professor now. So, all I have to do is find him, hoping the classroom hasn't changed, do this, mind you, all in the most clandestine way possible, approach him who is thirty years younger, explain that I'm from 1997, in my ripped, atrocious, bloodied-up clothes and broken bones. He'll SO believe me._

Sighing, but knowing she had no other options, she set off through the familiar halls of Hogwarts, her eyes now dry, but sadly reminiscing on the happy time before sixth year she had with Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron…how she _wished _with her every last fiber of her being that they were still alive. Still alive for her to scold and berate for not taking notes; still alive to be a last resort as a shoulder to cry on; still alive to…just be Harry and Ron, her two best friends in the whole world, no matter what. With another resigned and feeble sigh, she realized that now she would be the Golden…Person not in her own time anymore. That didn't have as nice a ring to it as the Golden Trio did, even if it was usually said with Malfoy's distaste.

"But no good missing things you'll never have again," she said softly and indifferently to herself.

As she reached the classroom that used to be taught by her favorite teacher, Professor Minerva McGonagall, she struggled with herself, like she didn't want to open the door again. The still familiar door she had spent so many wonderful hours in, learning from transforming teacups that would hum you the national anthem to the history of Animagi. She had fought well too, Hermione remembered. She ran in front of a Killing Curse shot by some Death Eater, to save Harry. It was so unbearable to see her small and frail body fall heavily through the air. The once majestic being, on the Light side, who commanded order second only to Dumbledore and compassion all at once. And now it was for nothing. Nothing! Everyone was dead!

Although, honestly, her Professor probably wouldn't have lasted too much longer anyway, as horrible as it was for Hermione to think. Why couldn't Harry have followed Hermione's requests to become an Animagus? Like Sirius and his father had? He could have been saved by now! But then again, maybe not, her flipside offered. After all, who was she, a mere pawn in the great game of life, to question the Grand Design—the stupid, fucking Grand Design that got everyone she ever loved killed. Sighing again with disdain, she quelled any thought of a quiet entrance, and just opened the door to the Transfiguration room so harshly that it ricocheted off of the wall and the immediate vicinity of the hallway.

Like she had expected, fifty heads snapped towards her, gaping like idiotic fish out of water. But she was over the taunts, stares, and oglings she had received as of late. She ignored all of the glares, and looked straight at the old man in the front of the classroom, his face surprised but strangely not appalled. Hermione was still impressed by the power he exuded. It was obviously not expected, her entrance, but there he was, acting like she had merely come in to ask him for a spot of tea. "I need to speak with you immediately, Professor Dumbledore." She said brusquely, staring him down.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, like he knew what was going on, that she had traveled through time, even though that was impossible…wasn't it? Her eyes threatened to let cascades fall from them as she saw the almost literal sparkles in his sky-colored eyes. In the days since the war had been inevitable—since Cedric had died, practically—their shine had started to diminish. And then Harry had been pulled into the Horcrux struggle…and the light vanished. No more unsaid sparkles or shines of approval. That door was shut off completely, never to be seen again. In Hermione's time. Dumbledore's death…hard as it was, Hermione had noticed that his perished form of his eyes seemed no different than their living shells a time before. And so, seeing that proud, congenial, compassionate look in his wizened face, Hermione couldn't help but try and fail to swallow the lump formed in her throat. She willed herself not to break down, but she wouldn't blame herself if she did. That sparkle, that one twinkle, a facet of him only he possessed, was something that she hadn't realized how much she missed until now. She wished it wouldn't affect her so. His form now swimming and warping in her vision, she held her own at the moment.

Unaware of her internal twistings and his ultimate, fatal destiny, he clasped his hands, indigo robes swishing. "May I inquire as to the subject matter?" he asked serenely.

For a split second, she was surprised; amazed really, that he could be so calm about it. She had rudely interrupted his class, after all, and judging by the class's still awed faces at the front of the room's demonstration, it was a fascinating lesson that shouldn't have been interceded by her issues, impossibly pressing as they were. Still, he remained impassive about it.

"If you don't mind, I would rather not discuss it in front of these glaring students that think I'm some sort of anomaly who shouldn't care about people that stare at them." She said acidly, still staring into Dumbledore's eyes, though her words were directed at the pupils in the room.

A few of the students blushed and turned their heads, but some just let her words slide over them and continued to have their eyes glued to her. Dumbledore gave a quiet nod. "Very well. Give me a moment, won't you?" he asked amiably, and she was still slightly shocked, not only because there he was in front of her, tangible as herself. He turned to his students. "Class is dismissed. I still expect those two rolls of parchment on the development of the science of Transfiguration, the main figureheads, their roles, and diagrams on the metamorphosis of the kangaroo rat to the bobcat."

"Sir! That is so unfair! Who the hell is she?" a voice came from the right side of the room. Hermione paid no mind, but Dumbledore's eyes lost their glimmer for a second as he stared at the boy.

"None of that, Hendrien! I said class is _dismissed!_"

At his harsh tone, they scrambled like rats under a spotlight, grabbing their bags faster than anything. Hermione couldn't help but admire her former Headmaster. She walked briskly up the row, trying not to limp, but she didn't think she succeeded in doing so. Some ignorant boy—perhaps Hendrien, she couldn't tell—brushed by her harshly, snapping her wrist back. She gasped sharply in intense pain and her eyes started watering, but she sucked it up after a few breaths and brought her arms in closer to herself. A couple students gave her a mix of glares and query, but she disregarded them. Finally, she got up to the old man, who was staring at her intently and with intrigue.

"Professor, I really must speak with you. It is of supreme importance." She said stonily, finally managing to quell, for the time, her nostalgia.

"Yes," he said brightly. "I believe that fact has been established."

She frowned, wondering if it was his form of mocking her, but she threw that aside as well. "Sir, there is not a matter I know of that is graver or more imperative than this, and I need your help without delay. I mean not to be rude or presumptuous, but I've got to be honest and say I don't care. Not after everything."

Dumbledore pressed his lips together. "Perfectly understandable. You have nothing to apologize for. Lemon drop?"

The casualness of his offer hit home, and she felt a pang in her heart. She closed her amber eyes for a moment in suppression. "No," she said, addressing him again. "I gave them up a long time ago. After a certain favorite Headmaster of mine died. It was horrible. Please…just…don't."

"Very well then," he said, as if she had merely declined the candy itself and not part of the person it represented to her. "Now, before we get started, would you mind indulging me with your name? While I am confident on being only your most intent and patient listener, I would like to be able to talk to you by name. It's a little less stuffy and political in my opinion."

Hermione downcast her eyes, as if debating her response. She struggled with the answer, but she knew that if she couldn't trust him, whom could she trust? There were no Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, hell, Luna in this alien time. There wasn't _anyone_. No one except Dumbledore. And while Hermione knew she was a world of a lot smarter than a lot of people, she knew she'd at least need help figuring this all out. And the person that could do that, the person who she would put her life in the hands of in a millisecond, was the man right in front of her. Her hesitation was sometimes a useful tool, but in this case, it was not necessary, and she needed to acknowledge that fast.

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Jane Granger," she responded stiffly and slowly, like she was regretting saying each word. "And I'm from…1997."

He paused, taking in the information, but did not laugh or show signs of not believing her, which she was grateful for. "That's not something I can say I've heard before, but I have been one for a wild imagination. So at that, I say it is nice to meet you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a nod. He then pressed his long fingertips together, peering at her so reminiscently through his half-moon spectacles. "Now," he began, "what is the nature of your business? I do find it is often not good to dwell too long on what you believe your exposition to be. But, by all means, take however long you may like."

She held his gaze a moment longer before looking around and, finding a spindly but reliable chair, she sat laboriously down into it, wincing at the motions it took. She took a shaky breath, both from the wealth of information she was about to disclose, and from the fact that it hurt to say it all again as it did to watch it happen. But, as the saying went, nothing ventured, nothing gained. And right now, she only stood to gain things.

She looked determinedly at him, brown eyes meeting blue. "Okay," she began eloquently. "You know of Voldemort, yes?"

Dumbledore raised a bushy white eyebrow silently, and Hermione knew that that name had sparked a bit of interest in the wizard. At her reluctance, he spoke. "Though I knew him under a different guise, yes, I am familiar with the term," he replied quietly, words forming almost after he spoke them. "If you're wondering whether I am capable of comprehending the obvious grave news you have for me concerning him, I assure you I am. You need only go on."

Hermione bit her lip, fearing that Voldemort—or, as Dumbledore knew him, Tom Riddle—might have very well have been quite far in gathering his factions, and maybe her being here was just pointless. Yet, she continued. "Well," she began again, wondering where to start. There was just so much. "I have no idea why I am here of all places, or what I am doing anywhere but in verbal and literal combat with Voldemort, but I am. All I know is that the last thing I remember before being so unceremoniously dropped here is that I had accidentally twisted my Time-Turner the wrong way. You see, we were in what was—is—will be—whatever, you know what I mean—the Final Battle against him and his Death Eater followers. My best friend, Harry Potter, was supposed to kill the Dark Lord according to this prophecy he heard in the Department of Mysteries, that you have heard as well, though I am not exactly sure if you have or not yet. And so you see, I—" she had been doing well up until that point, voice solid, but at that moment, she faltered, tears springing to her eyes, but not falling. She closed them, sucked in another breath, and went on with her story. "Light and Dark forces were lost, and I lost everyone. He killed them all. Every single last one. He killed Lupin…Harry…Ron…the Weasleys…Shacklebolt…Moody…T-Tonks…everyone. And by killing them, he killed me, too. Or at least my heart and soul, that is. They made it up, they made _me_, and now that they're gone, I don't know what to do. I don't think I can survive. My only consolation was that by using the Killing Curse on Voldemort, I destroyed his last Horcrux. He's human. Or…at least, he was in my time. Which meant that he was at the mercy of forces grounded; he couldn't hide behind bits of his soul anymore. I know you know what Horcruxes are, so please don't think I'm making this up. Because that is the farthest thing from what I am doing, and I need you to know this. You're the last one I can trust. I mean, you're gone in my time—I'm sorry to say, and I don't think I can tell you why or how, but you are—and so this is weird, but you are the only one left. And if you don't believe me, there is no way I can—"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted. She stopped, staring at him. "I apologize for cutting in, but I do believe you, Hermione. While your tale is one very intricately spun and vociferated, and many people wouldn't choose to open their minds for it, but I am not one of them. To say the least, you have got me interested, and if anything, even if it makes me look like a fool, I am intrigued to know where you are going with this. You can count on my confidence. And that I will keep your secret; I am assuming, correct me if I'm wrong, that this is something I don't believe would be best to be advertised."

Hermione gave a slight upturn of her mouth, the closest to a smile she'd had in a long time. He believed her. He _believed _her. She had one ally in this whole messed up loop, the best ally she could have in her opinion. "Yes, I think so, too," she consented. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you."

"Now, though this may seem like an odd and impertinent question, indulge me," Dumbledore offered, and Hermione nodded in interest. "Your home…are you willing to go back to it?"

Hermione frowned deeply in confusion. First of all, she had no idea what he was on about, and second, she had thought the answer was obvious. "What home?" she said with a laugh that was actually closer to a bark. "Everything's demolished! My parents are gone—important enough to be killed so _kindly _by Voldemort himself—my friends are gone, my whole world is gone. What would I want to go back to?"

Dumbledore held her stare for a moment before appearing to want to say something, but stopped himself. Hermione wondered fiercely what it was, but she knew better than to question him. "Yes. Of course," he said absently. "Now, I must discuss with you the—"

"Wait," Hermione interjected suddenly. "Sorry for cutting you off, but I need to…to…well…"

Dumbledore waved a hand at her. "By all means. I daresay I have too many words in my mouth already."

Hermione nodded in thanks. "Harry and Ron," she started, choking up. He lowered his head slightly, indicating her to continue. She swallowed brusquely. "Please…I need to see them again. Even if they don't remember me…if I fix our—their—future, I mean, it'd mean I wasn't there, at least this me wasn't, but they would be, wouldn't they? It would hurt like crazy, being apart from them, like it is now, but if they were alive, even if they wouldn't be _my _friends anymore, I think I would be able to live with that. I just—I need to see them one more time. Not in a picture, but in form. _Please. Please _tell me there is a way. I _need _a way. There is no possible path that I could take that wouldn't involve that. I have no reason for being to live without them."

Her words hung in the air like a bee searching for its next flower, and by his silence, Hermione's hopes started to dash. He looked at her sadly, and she knew the answer. However, he spoke before she could continue. "I am afraid to say that there is no obvious remedy to that situation, but, there is a rare event that has been rumored to occur, though even then, only once or twice in all history."

Her eyes moved back up to his after examining a quite interesting incarnadine-colored stain on the floor. "Well, what is it?" she asked, hardly one to get excited, but even she had to admit that she was starting to get hopeful once again.

He took a moment, as if trying to think of the best way to word his response. "Sometimes," he started with slowed anticipation, like he was not wanting to say it, "spirits, if they have not completely passed on, if they have unfinished business on Earth, if they are unwilling to leave this realm yet, they will appear to certain persons; a séance of sorts. It is said that they will appear as more or less of a ghost, though they will look just like they would if they were alive. Looking corporeal, that is to say. Although this is far from an exact science; far from an exact speculation. And like I said as well, this may not have even happened at all, but I figured you would like to know it. Your arrival is certainly an intriguing happenstance in my life, and if that can happen, then this event, I believe, would most likely happen to you of all people if it ever occurred."

Hermione's eyes widened to the point of hope. Raw hope. "Harry and Ron would do that!" she exclaimed, straightening up in the chair. "They wouldn't leave me like this; they wouldn't. They know I can't live without them! There has to be a way, Dumbledore. I know there is. They'll find it. They always find it. They would know I need to see them!"

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger, I do not know the Harry and Ron you speak of. It does sound like they were, indeed, quite close friends of yours, and, in my thought processes, if it were to happen to any trio, it would be to you, as I can see you obviously possess great initiative, internal strength, and the best sense of connection. There is rarely a connection so strong as to spur this phenomena, but if yours is strong enough, it could very well happen. I only hope that it does. However, I must caution you, there are ramifications to—"

"I don't care!" Hermione cried passionately. "There can't be 'ramifications' worse than what I am right now! I don't care! If it'll bring them to me, I don't care what happens!"

Dumbledore gave her a soft smile, but it was not completely full of empathy. "I commiserate with you, Hermione, I do. Trust me, your burden is one you, of all people, should not bear, and I regret for you that it has been placed upon your shoulders. I only with you all the happiness in the world. But other destinies are tied to your own, not just your immediate vicinity. Making friends here, stepping out of place of your own history, could wash out dire events. People who are happy and living a normal life thirty years from now may just find themselves far from it, depending on what your actions here are, how little they may seem. Saving someone from a prank, a harmless curse in their first year here could have detrimental causes to them, not just to you. You know the effects of Time-Turners, I can see. This would be the same. The same happenings. I only insist you take care to remember what can happen if you meddle in the timeline. I am not telling you to stay in a room with no contact, but please do not wander into the timelines of those you should not. You have an idea of what those may be, I assume, and I put my faith in you that you will take pains to make sure this does not happen. I dislike to be the bearer of condescendence and discouragement, but I mean only to forewarn you. This, after all, is not your natural time, and though there is a reason which I do not know for you to be sent here, you must not tread deeper waters than those in which you can stand."

Hermione downcast her eyes to the same zinnia-hued point, and with a sad nod that could only come from realizing a grim, cruel irony, she looked wearily back up to him. "Yes, Sir," she said helplessly, though she knew he was completely right, as always. "I understand. I do have a last question, though, if you please."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling again.

"A place to sleep?"

Dumbledore chuckled jovially, and he clapped his hands while rising from his chair and she knew he was trying to lighten the situation that, unfortunately, could not be lightened. "Oh, yes, that would be a problem, wouldn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "With great haste, you will be all settled in. Have no worry about that. While I do this, however, I impress strongly upon you to travel down to the Infirmary where a delightful woman named Madam Pomfrey will attend to your injuries, as I do say you have a fair few too many. She was in a right state when you were brought in."

Hermione frowned again from her previous, not content per se, but settled placidity. 'Settled' being that she wasn't drowning in her own tears. "Brought in, Sir?" Hermione questioned curiously.

"Yes, I am sure Poppy will tell you everything, but right now I have some strings to pull and some connections to be taken advantage of. If you'll excuse me, Miss Granger, I must tend to those, otherwise I would assist you, although you do look like one who would like to go solo."

He had her labeled to a point, a point only two other people had been able to do, and, at least in this case, she appreciated it. "Yes, thank you, Professor. Really. You have no idea what you've done for me. Thank you."

He waved his hand again in dismissal. "No apologies, Miss Granger. Now, if you please," he paused a second, reaching into a bowl to pop into his mouth something looking peculiarly like a Licorice Snap, "escort yourself to the Hospital Wing. No good can come if you are incapacitated."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she agreed. "And thank you for not asking many questions. I know it's unfair to do this, but I don't know how much I can tell you without it being, well, you know."

"I do," he said. "You are the least nuisance as possible, and you mustn't think otherwise. I will help you in any way you need, domestic amenities or Restricted Section library access or whatever else you desire. Do not hesitate, Hermione. Don't you worry about that."

She gave him a curt nod, getting up out of the chair and walking again along the long aisleway of desks, somehow happier—in relative terms—than she had been upon first escaping Madam Pomfrey's grips, even though that was to whom she was going to now. Dumbledore, as always, had a good point. She was in no condition to do anything if she kept up like this, gruesome-tasting Skele-gro or not.

So she really was twenty years in the past, she reminded herself with more certainty. Giving herself a little smile, she had one last thought before reaching the Infirmary.

_Bring it on, Voldemort, bring it on._

* * *

Thanks to everyone that reviewed!  
My utmost gratitude to Dawwwlish the auror for pointing out the twenty/thirty years thing. Thanks! 


	3. Discoveries

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Three: Discoveries_

* * *

She left his office disappointed but not feeling very much…not like that was a change. She barely took in the familiar surroundings around her, but still, she rather missed her days here. Well, that is before that bastard destroyed it with the magical version of an atomic bomb. She was just finishing the staircase towards the Great Hall when an angry, snappish voice alerted her. 

"You! You scared me sick when you vanished! Now you get your little butt back here before I tranquilize you, missy!"

She wasn't intimidated, nor should she have been. The matron, while a little frosty sometimes wasn't anyone to fear. So, she begrudgingly followed the graying woman into the hospital once again.

"Ah, my dear! You look atrocious! Go sit down over there, why don't you?" A low, scratchy voice commanded.

She glared at the man in front of her. He had to be the forgettable Armando Dippet, that much was evident to her, even though she hadn't had the…_pleasure _of meeting him like Harry had—sort of—if you considered the Tom Riddle incident all the way back in second year. She took in his less-than-desirable appearance. He was thinning—well, that is, he almost looked like a monk in her opinion. There was a big, mug-sized patch of bald head surrounded by a circle of wispy brown hair. He was fairly short, not much taller than herself. He wore an ugly brown, woolen coat, with a gray, linen-looking shirt underneath, dated far beyond the current year, judging by the small but still visible moth holes. His dress pants would have been probably the 'best' part of his attire, if they hadn't been at least two sizes too big for him and wearing thin. The too-tightly cinched brown, thick belt around his waist was obvious, along with the bulging stomach, his shirt barely tucking into his pants, and was the farthest from agreeable. All in all, he was _not_, to say the least, an impressive man, let alone worthy of being a Headmaster. How and on what skills or grounds he was hired was one of the biggest mysteries she had ever faced.

"And who are you?" she asked, purposely being irritable.

He seemed visibly flustered, and he straightened his blue-and-orange striped tie. "I, my child, am Armando Dippet, _Headmaster _of this school," He replied pompously.

"Well, aren't you special," she muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing," She managed a smirk, despite her aching face, and turned back to Madam Pomfrey. "So am I going to be restored or not?"

"I—well if you wouldn't be so rude, I would! Students these days are getting so inconsiderate. Now go sit down over there. Not another word!" She said, pushing Hermione onto the bed with a deliberate forcefulness.

"Ow." Hermione said purposely.

"Oh, hush. Now sit still while I heal those nasty cuts of yours. You're going to need to stay here at least a night for me to regrow your bones. Now how did you say you got these again?"

"I didn't."

"Right. Well, I didn't bring the Headmaster here for no reason. Please tell us what happened."

She snorted in disbelief. "Headmaster? More like a gamekeeper! I've already seen Dumbledore, wisely, and he has been more than competent and much greater than understanding with me. How did I get here anyway? The last thing I remember is cursing Volde—oh, nevermind. You wouldn't understand."

Madam Pomfrey frowned, but didn't say anything for a few seconds. "I don't quite know. All I do know is that you suddenly appeared here on this bed. I was going to check on one of my other patients and I found you blacked out cold, poor dear, and your body in that gruesome position. Although, come to think of it, there was a note saying that you were originally found near the Quidditch field. Now I am requesting—and by request, I mean order—you us at least a few answers and your stay here. Can you do that?"

The question was almost rhetorical, and Hermione looked between the two eager faces, the more browning one way more apt-looking than the other simply curious one. Hermione _was _tempted to tell her everything, to confide in the well-meaning woman. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. The only person she felt she could maybe trust was Dumbledore, the useful, rightful Headmaster. And thus, she took one disgusted look at the pitiful excuse of a man next to her, and shook her head in incredulity. She still couldn't believe how he even came to be at this school, not to mention be the man who ran it. She wondered vaguely when he would retire.

"I would…if all idiots left the room," She responded scathingly, glaring at Dippet.

He puffed out his already bigger-than-normal chest and huffed in indignation. "I beg your pardon! You need to speak to your elders in respect, girl!"

"Elder is right, _Headmaster_. I'm not telling anyone anything until I'm better and I am relieved of any minds not capable of handling such information, or brain cells for that matter. Trust me, even you, Madam Pomfrey, would be astounded at my story. I'm not even sure I'm ready to tell it yet," She said, feeling another burning sensation behind her eyes. No. She would not cry in front of _them._

"Well, I'm not leaving," Dippet defended childishly.

Hermione again scoffed at him. She still couldn't believe it. "And I'm not telling you anything, you self-righteous freak. So you can stand here looking at nothing in particular or you can go back to your office admiring your remaining hair and dwindling tenure." She couldn't help but bring that up, trivial as it may have been. She turned to Madam Pomfrey, "Now who did you say found me?"

Madam Pomfrey seemed like she was on the verge of smirking, too, at Hermione's contemptuous remarks at the older man. "Oh," she said mistily, "Peter Pettigrew. Overreaching little wart if you ask me, but I'm not supposed to be biased towards the students, so lets just keep it our little secret."

Hermione shot up in her bed, scattering a few bottles, their liquids mixing on the cold tile below her, pink smoke rising from the pooling potions. "PETTIGREW?! You're kidding me! You let that despicable ingrate touch me?" she spat loudly, forgetting she wasn't supposed to know who he was.

"You've heard of him?" Madam Pomfrey asked incredulously, but a look of small fright at Hermione's outburst was glinting in her icy gray eyes.

"Heard of him? Of course I have, I—" she caught herself, wishing she could oust him some more, but realized it would be quite detrimental to maybe not only herself. She rectified. "I—I just…it sounds uncomfortably close to this man that my friends and I _despised_ back home," Hermione invented wildly.

"Hmm…be that as it may, we still need to get you cleaned up," Madam Pomfrey said matronly, busying herself in grasping various potion bottles in all different shapes and sizes from the shelves, for the moment ignoring the mess on the floor.

However, despite this, by her pursed lips, she knew she was unhappy with Hermione's actions and outbursts. Hermione noted one oddly shaped one—like bubbles stacked one on top of the other, a glowing green liquid bubbling inside it. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what was in it. Most likely some foul-tasting brew that fixed some injury in the space of less than five seconds.

"How long do I have to—God! What is that?" she coughed, spluttering, for Madam Pomfrey had just poured the contents of a spinach-mixed-with-dirt-flavored potion down her throat.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a disapproving stare. "Oh, you're just fine, stop overreacting. The faster we get these down you, the faster you get better. Now open up and hold out your wrist. If that's not taken care of immediately, the effects could be too far along for magic to handle. Now please cooperate, you!"

"No, no, no, no, no, I can't, I have to go now!" Hermione yelped, both in pain and urgency. "Where is he?"

"Where is who—I—Have you noticed your condition? You need to be fixed up right now, you hear? Those bones need regrowing, and fast."

"No, but I—" she was cut off by yet another intolerable potion. "Mmph."

"Now you listen here. You're to be staying here for at least a night, and _I DON'T _want to see your bed empty in the morning, all right? I don't know why you're here, but I'm not one to question Dumbledore's orders, so I won't ask any questions. His only request was that I see to your—sit _down!—_health, and that is exactly what I will be doing. So you're stuck here for twenty-four hours, got that? Try and get some rest, will you? Here, hold your nose, this'll taste rather awful. Skele-gro. I apologize for the unpleasantness, but it cannot be helped, I'm afraid."

She knew rather well the effects and tastes of Skele-gro, courtesy of another mishap in second year, and by Harry's disgusted reaction, she wasn't looking forward to it. She could only hope that since her bones were still in her arm, it wouldn't hurt as much. Hopefully. She gave the older lady a contemptuous glare, but did as she was told, holding back any reaction to the worst tasting thing she had ever consumed. So much for the not-too-bad theory. Biting her tongue, she further let herself be poked, prodded, salved, bandaged, and force-fed until she was given a potion to fall asleep, Pomfrey's and Dippet's voices still discussing things, but fading into nothingness. Unlike the Dreamless Sleep one, however, she fell into a restless slumber, unfortunately plagued by unbearable nightmares…

_The cold, cruel cackle resounded through the air, reverberating off the countless bodies and God knows what else, reaching the young witch's ears in painful disbelief. "RON!" an anguished voice called out, eyes settling on a monster and her best friend._

_She ran as fast as she could, surroundings blurring except for the two figures fifty feet away from her. All sounds faded until they could not be heard any longer, but that harsh laugh kept echoing in her head, repeating itself like a broken record. She finally reached the young, now stiff shadow of what used to be one of her only friends in the whole world. She flung herself down upon him, desperately listening for his heartbeat, but to her distress, she found none, and his chest was not rising or falling like it used to, his familiar dimples not evident in his once-laughing face. Her gaze turned to his paling face, his blue eyes open in not fear but defiance. She instantly regretted all those times she had yelled at him mercilessly, not for one second thinking they may have been the last times she'd see his face, ignorant as it may have been. Tears already were falling fast and hard down her face, dripping onto his still warm chest. In fact, he looked just like he was sleeping soundly, if it weren't for the rigidity of him and his pasty face, eyes open in anything but sleep. She tore herself away and looked over to see his little sister hugging herself, rocking back and forth on the ground, frozen in denial, her wand at her side. Hermione only held on to him harder, never wanting to let him go; never wanting to admit he was really gone. She felt strong hands trying to pull her away from him, but she would not let them. She would not let them take him away! Finally, they pulled her free in her weakness, but she still flailed, wanting to bring him back…from the dead._

"_Hermione, he's gone." The familiar voice said, and though it seemed level, it cracked midway through and was thick with unshed tears, she knew that much. It continued, strangled sounding as it may have been. " Come on, they're going to kill you, too, if you don't pull yourself together. I promise we'll put together a proper funeral and can mourn after this is all over. We have to go, Hermione. Don't worry—I'll be right by your side. He fought well, and he wouldn't want you to do this forever, let alone now, over him. He would want you to keep fighting. To keep fighting for him. Please, we have to let go for now. You have to." Harry said calmly, but the hint of emotional urgency was still there._

"_I don't know how I can, Harry!" she said into his strong shoulder, smelling the scent of blood from his numerous gashes, but she didn't care. He was the only one she had left. The only real person she needed. Little did she know he would later be gone, too._

_He pulled her away from him, holding her at arm's length. "You have to, Hermione. We have to end this. Just you and me. Come on, don't worry," he said, giving her a small smile, which she had started to return. He could always make things better, no matter how bad they were. She believed him. "I'll always be by your s—"_

_And with the shout of a curse, his body also was thrown to the ground, green eyes open in sympathy, sadness, and anger all at once, torn from her, her arms still outstretched like she was hugging him. He was dead._

"NNNOOOO!" Hermione yelled in anguish, his last words still fermented in her brain. _I'll always be by your side…Don't worry…Just you and me… _She woke up to find her forehead beaded in sweat, her hair plastered around her face. "Harry, no! You promised…you promised—" She realized she was back in the hospital wing, the nightmare over…for now.

She heard a rustling from her left, and she grabbed her wand, ready to fight whatever it was. A light turned on a ways away from her, and Madam Pomfrey appeared at her side. "Dear, what in Merlin's name is the matter? What are you yelling about?"

The matron was dressed in a pink robe and blue slippers, her brown-but-graying hair in curlers. "No, I need…I need…I need Harry!"

Madam Pomfrey sighed, and she patted Hermione on the arm in empathy, though the woman obviously had no idea what Hermione was on about. Nevertheless, she played along. "Harry's not here, sweetie. Just lie back down and you'll—"

"No! I can't stay here any longer! I have to go. I thank you, but I can't stay here a moment longer!" Hermione said frantically, getting precariously out of bed, snatching up her wand and was out the door before anyone could stop her.

She ran out of the Hospital Wing, glad that her injuries were starting to get better. That is to say that they weren't broken. All the pain was still there, not to mention all the blood that Madam Pomfrey hadn't gotten to yet. Still, Hermione pushed open the front doors and ran to the comfort of the old, strong aspen tree by the Black Lake that she and Ron and Harry had had so many good times under. When times were hardly what they were now. When everyone was alive and the only things they were worried about were their N.E.W.T. exams. The tree that later she and her two friends would hide by during the first attack from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

She slumped against the rough but memorable bark, pulling her knees to her chest, painfully reminiscing on the past seven years, the best of her life. She hadn't even realized she was crying until she tasted the salty tears on her lips, and she hastily brushed them away, not going to let any passerby see any weakness in her. She tiredly looked up and was honestly surprised to see that the sun was starting to rise, and as she was staring into the purple, red, and orange colors of it, she jumped about a mile when her vision came across a confused but intrigued face with the brightest hazel eyes she had ever seen. Then her eyes widened and she stood up in disbelief.

"H—Harry? Is—Is that you?" she asked, ignoring the absurdity of it. Her brain, however, apparently would have none of that. "But—but—but _how_? You died! Oh, nevermind that now. You have no idea how much I've missed you!" she expressed, throwing her arms with abandon around the boy in front of her. She frowned when she felt him stiffen and bewilderedly pushed her away.

"Who are you?" he asked, his deep voice (so like Harry's) laced in slight apprehensiveness.

"It's me—" she said, disturbed at his question. It was then that her logical brain kicked in again. "W-Wait…if you're not Harry, who are—you're really not him…" she said again, finally taking in his whole appearance.

It was an easy mistake to make, though. He could have been her friend's clone were it not for the difference in eye color. Green versus hazel. That one difference made this boy separate from Harry. "Uh…no. The name's James Potter, but I'm afraid I don't know yours."

In all her wildest explanations for who this was, she never would have come across the one that maybe this was Harry's dad...if twenty years younger and alive. If she hadn't seen so much in her lifetime, she probably would have fainted. As it was, she still felt light-headed as she stared into the disturbingly corporeal face of the man that had been dead for so long. The man that spurred Harry's core reason for fighting.

"J—James Potter? But you're dea—oh my God."

"Never gotten that reaction before, but there's a first time for everything I guess," He said, his face smiling brightly, if a little cocky.

"You going to flirt forever with her or are you going to introduce us, Prongs?" a falsely irritated voice asked from his right.

Hermione switched her gaze to the speaker, and, again, was struck with déjà vu. It couldn't be. Sirius was dead! Evidently, it was again a lapse in reality that Hermione was suffering. James's face tinged with pink, but it could have just been the light from the sunrise, for it was so faint. Hermione, meanwhile, was busy staring at the voice like she was seeing an answer of hers she had actually gotten wrong.

"Right. Sorry, Padfoot. This here's Sirius, Remus, and the guy that's convulsing with excitement is Peter. And we…are the Marauders," He announced with a dramatic bow and pride.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the display, but managed a _small_, yet still shocked, smile. "Prongs, you really need your head deflated. You have the biggest ego I have had the misfortune to experience," A levelheaded boy injected.

She knew it was Lupin, but still, his differences were most defined. He no longer had the weary lines etched in his face from years of werewolf transformations, and his premature gray hair was magically darkened to a brown, almost black, messy hairstyle. He was more muscular than anyone had let on, and he was rather attractive in Hermione's opinion. Not that _she _was attracted to him necessarily, although she probably could have been if she didn't know who he was.

"Oh, stop being such a spoilsport, Moony. Let him have his fun," Sirius defended.

"Yeah, come on, Moony!" an unnaturally high-pitched, excited specimen agreed to Hermione's left.

Hermione closed her eyes, hoping she would not be met with the person she thought it was. To her horror, she was faced with the traitor formerly named Peter Pettigrew. She started shaking in anger and in half a heartbeat, her wand was out and pressing against his neck, her brain just itching to shout the Killing Curse at his ungrateful being, caring not that it'd be as yet unmotivated murder, wizard law or muggle. She was pleased to note that his pale face just got about five shades lighter at her simple but effective daggered glare, his watery eyes shining with tears. She could not believe how babyish he was being now and how heartless he was in the future. She paid no attention to the other three students next to him, but she thought she caught at least one of them staring at her in shock at how apparently reasonless her behavior was.

"You slimy little RAT!" she yelled into his face. He started cowering more than he had originally. "Damn you to fucking hell, you miserable, worthless piece of shit! If you ever come near me or anyone I care about again, this lifetime or any other, I will curse you so badly you wished you never lived! And then after I use every muggle and wizard torture I know, I will kill your sorry ass and never see you again! Do you understand?" she screamed maniacally, her reasonable mind long gone. Her face then came across one of another option. "Unless you would like me to kill you now? I would be more than happy to! Give me one fucking reason and I swear to God I will! As it is…_Maledictio!" _

She smiled at his screech of pain, and she watched as she started writhing, his pudgy face contorted in both fear and agony, his limbs stretched at odd angles. She admired her cursework as he turned into his rat form, back again to human, and all over again twice. He let out one more yell of anguish until she released him of his convulsions, the cause of the scarcely known spell she performed on him. She laughed evilly, and to the outsider it would seem almost crazed, but to her, she was simply pleased with her revenge on the pestilence that caused just about all of her misery.

"Holy shit, woman, let go of him!" she heard a shaky Sirius command finally, shoving her to break her concentration.

She ignored his push, and looked at him as if he was intruding on a particularly nice birthday present. "Aw, do I have to?" she asked, voice crazed. "Oh, fine, but you're really missing something."

They stared at her, no one making a sound. To her luck, there was no one else around to witness the incident, or, rather, tell someone. Peter lay on the ground, eyes staring up at the sky, every few seconds letting out an involuntary shudder, even though the curse was well over. Finally, Remus went over and helped his "friend" up, putting the boy's arm around his shoulder, so painfully unaware of his grim fate. Peter caught glance of Hermione, and his aqueous-looking eyes reflected only the uttermost fear. Hermione scoffed.

"Who _are _you?" James asked again, now looking her over in a different light—slight interest, and, was it? Admiration?

She scrutinized him, but contemplated telling him. After all, what did she have to lose? _Not much, _she thought bitterly. She held out her hand. "Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you, Potter."

He shook her outstretched hand hesitantly, as if wondering if she was going to curse him, too, ignorant of the blood and dirt that streaked it. Satisfied she wouldn't put him in danger also, he continued, clearing his throat. "So, er, what exactly happened to you?"

Her eyes spontaneously glassed over, and her breaths became shorter, taken with more effort. Before her eyes flashed an image of Harry, then Ron, then Ginny and Lupin, and countless others. Her subconscious noted that she was in the company of others and would not let her cry, but even so, they filled up with a small amount of the saline liquid. She couldn't blink for fear of losing Harry and Ron all over again, and she ignored the uneasiness of her knees barely supporting her body. She was abruptly and rudely pushed out of her memories by Harry's—or James's, rather—voice.

"Okay, you've got to stop doing that," He said jokingly. "You kind of look like you're having a seizure." Wrong thing to say.

Even though he was, like Harry, about seven inches taller than her, she stood up to him with insolence, not about to let someone like him intimidate her. "You have no idea what you're talking about or who you're messing with, you egocentric smartass, so shut the hell up before I curse you, too."

She honestly expected him to be a little taken aback, as so many had, so she was surprised when he broke out into a wide grin. "I take that as a compliment," he said. "You going to answer my question?"

Even she felt a twitch at the corners of her mouth, a feeling she hadn't felt for so, so long, at his carefree response, though it was not enough of a smile to affect her expression as a whole. "No, I'm not."

"Fine. Well at least tell us what you're doing here."

"I don't know. One moment I was on the battlef—well, anyway, the next I woke up here."

The others were confused, but Remus spoke up quickly, his interest piqued. "Battlefield? What are you talking about?" He asked, getting straight to the point.

She winced at her mistake. "I can't tell you anymore, alright? I've got to go."

"Go where?" Sirius asked.

"To go see…Dumbledore." She invented, not choosing to relay the fact that she had seen him not but a day ago.

"No one would go see Dumbledore before school has barely started unless they had a pressing reason. It can't be that bad. So just tell us. What's so death-inducing about it?" James observed, but Hermione knew he was just trying to get her to tell them her misfortunes.

She had to admit that his offer was appealing, despite the heartbreaking truth of his death comment. She did want to tell someone about everything; to pour her soul out to someone. Especially someone that was the closest thing she had to Harry. She made eye contact with him, and she found she couldn't tear herself away. There was just something about him that intrigued her, and she wanted to find out what it was. She ripped her sights away from them, taking to a sprint down the hill, away from them; where, she didn't quite know. Eventually, though, she knew she did have to go see Dumbledore again eventually and discover exactly what the meaning of her visiting the past was. Why she was meant to meet the infamous four standing in front of her. Why she was thrown from imminent death to the scrutiny of four curious minds. Evil lunatic or no.

* * *

I'm a little sketchy on this chapter, but tell me what you think, because I'd really like to know your opinions. 

Thanks:

Pocket Dog, The Future Mrs. Thomas Andrew Felton, The Almighty Cheez It, Purplebubble, Angelic Bladez, Tuxita, Mereret, AlexandraKathleen, Reanne1102, Sivaroobini Lupin-Black, and animerocksjapanrocks.

And also to all of you who have read but not reviewed, put me on favorites and/or put me on alert. Thanks!


	4. Consolations

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Four: Consolations_

* * *

As soon as Hermione's, the mysterious girl the four Marauders didn't have any biographical information on, fragile form was out of earshot, her having scampered off to somewhere they didn't know but were still rather curious about, James looked around at his friends' equally perplexed faces.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" he asked.

"Oh, this coming from the guy that was acting like there was nothing strange going on?" Sirius mocked, for once the laugh gone momentarily from his face.

"Come on, Padfoot, you know I was just trying to get her to tell us something."

"Why though, Prongs? I mean, what if she's like a Death Eater?"

For a second, James's face flickered with scary realization. But before he could say anything, Remus offered his opinion in the same annoyingly intellectual but wise nonetheless voice. "No, I don't think she is. You saw how her eyes were emotionless but still filled with something other than plain evil? How even though her wrists have obviously been broken, her fingers were aching to hold on to someone or something? I may not be a walking encyclopedia on—shut up, Sirius—Death Eaters, tell me I'm wrong, but those weren't exactly Death Eater MO's, you two. You should have learned by now that it's peoples' internally-induced signs not their external ones that reveal their personality."

"Why thank you, Dr. Moony, psychoanalyst extraordinaire, but I don't think any of us are registered for shrink appointments," Sirius shot sarcastically.

Remus gave him a glare, which oddly shut him up. Remus only showed unrest like that unless he was deadly serious. "No, I think Moony's right, Padfoot. She didn't exactly seem like the whole Dark Side typecast," James conceded, finally taking in Remus's words.

Sirius rolled his eyes but for once said nothing. "Though there is definitely something off about her—I _mean—_" Remus continued louder over Sirius's starts of 'of course something's off you nutter!', "—that there's a deeper story besides just what she told—uh—did to us."

"Speaking of, what spell was that that she used to curse Peter?" James inquired, unable to keep the steep intrigue out of it. "Wicked awesome. I mean, cruel and out of her mind, but still…awesome."

Remus frowned, obviously thinking the same thing. And maybe, mixed in, there was an ambiguity in his knowledge concerning the curse or Hermione that he longed to fill. "I don't know, I—"

He was cut off by a large, mocking gasp from Sirius. "Hold it. Hold EVERYTHING. This is cause for a moment here, people. Our dear friend Moony…_doesn't _know everything! Fan me, James, I think I'm going to faint."

Lupin punched him in the arm fairly uncharacteristically, and only received a bruised but still laughing Sirius. "Stuff it, Sirius. I'm serious. I mean, does it not seem even remotely possible to you that she's normal?"

"I-I-I d-d-don't like h-her!" an out-of-breath, frightened voice squeaked.

James, Sirius, and Remus all looked at their quivering friend, each with an eyebrow raised. "Peter, no offense, but we can't really count your opinion considering she nearly killed you. Thus, your opinion is quite biased," James said honestly.

Peter frowned at this unexpected reply from his friend; he had sincerely anticipated a more sympathizing one, so this came as a small surprise. Sirius threw a heavy arm around his greasy companion. "Aw, come on now, Pete, you know we're all pals, right? Don't you worry your furry little mind, we'll find out what she did."

Peter looked at him skeptically, but being the airy but diabolical brain that he was, he let it slide. "Yeah, yeah, o-okay."

A big, echoing bell chimed three times somewhere off in the distance, and a look of "oh, shit!" crossed the four's faces—in varying degrees, of course. "You do remember that we have early Potions today, don't you? Moony, why didn't you remind us?" James exclaimed, though inside he wasn't worried a whole hell of a lot.

Remus narrowed his eyes. "And why don't _you_, James Michael Potter, become responsible for once?"

"I—I am too responsible! I completely resent that comment!"

"Nah, man, he's got a point, Prongs. You really ought to gain some self-control."

"Oh, and _you're _one to tell me, are you, Padfoot? Mr. I'm-going-to-date-all-the-girls-in-Hogwarts-so-I-can-get-my-merit-badge? I am utterly disgusted that I am your friend!"

"Sure you are. You know you wouldn't survive without me."

"I would too, and I'm going to go find that girl. You can either come with me or stay with baby Peter here. But I for one am going to be proactive."

Remus glared at Sirius harshly, and oddly enough, Sirius slightly, keyword being 'slightly', cringed at the reprimanding stare he was receiving. "He started it?" Sirius suggested hopefully. Lupin punched him in the arm again, deliberately in the same spot as before so Sirius had to rub it to dull the twinges.

James walked away from his best friends, still hearing the faint, sultry sounds of their playful bantering and light brawls. Quite unlike himself, or at least as was known to his friends, he closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh scent of small drops of rain still clinging to the autumn flowers. His foot brushed a stray leaf, and it crumbled to an unnoticed pile of brown specks before it floated away in the nipping wind. He opened his dark, amber-rimmed, hazel eyes, absorbing the breathtaking landscape. A small frown creased his forehead as he realized he was in a secluded corner about a hundred feet from the Black Lake…much farther away than where he thought he was going. It was amazing how the mind could wander when you weren't paying attention.

Nevertheless, he continued taking a walk around and was overcome with the feeling that he had never been here before, and that he was being watched. Subtly, he looked around for any signs of life, but the only indication that there was even anything living was the soft sound of the grass waving in the wind, and the dim ebbing of the lake tide from far away, perhaps a splash from a tentacle being waved around under the surface. Distantly, a bell rang again, but to him it didn't register anything in his brain and he just took it as a background sound, much like the sniffling coming from—

Wait…sniffling? His brow creased again as he walked quietly, stealthily, towards the sound. As he looked around, he noticed a large willow tree, its sad, drooping yet green branches dipping almost to the floor, its vines reaching up the trunk in a graceful intricacy. It was picturesque to say the least, but James also noticed another presence sitting down, leaning against the leafy surface, its head in its hands, quite _un-_picturesque. In his head, flashbacks of the events just previous surfaced in his mind. _The girl…wearing what this being is…crying…all alone…_

He had found her. Unexpectedly and not when he had anticipated, if at all, but here she was, and he knew he wasn't imagining it. Quietly, he looked behind him for someone else's possible presence, friends or otherwise, but found, to his agreement, none. Forgetting his previous notion of being furtive, he jogged up to the tree. Once he was within about ten feet of it, the figure's head shot up, her wand out at the exact same second. "Hey, now, it's just me. Mind lowering that? I rather like my face thank you very much."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she returned her wand to her side nonetheless. "What do you want, P-P-Potter?" she struggled with his name. He didn't know why.

"Nothing, I just…well…"

What _did _he want anyway? Why did he want to come looking for her? Why did this grunged up, bloodied girl intrigue him so? What excuse was he supposed to give her? He cursed himself for not thinking of this earlier. He must look like an idiot. Not that he didn't always—Lily reminded him of that neverendingly—but for some reason he didn't exactly want to give off the air that he was a complete bonehead. An outsider could call it infatuation at first sight, but he would rather refer to it as fascination. He wanted to know this girl's story…her whole story.

"I'm used to the silent treatment, but usually people would have attacked me by now instead of staring at me glassy-eyed with their mouth open like a fish," She observed plainly.

He shut his partially open mouth, blinked a few times, and stared at her, taking in her appearance and dripping sarcasm once again. The longer he looked at her, the farther in he could see—beneath all the grime, blood, and whatever else, he could see a beautiful girl who had seen way too much death and despair than should be even close to normal. She couldn't have been any older than he was, but her façade implicated otherwise. It didn't suit her. Her rigid and indifferent front could work for a while—hell, it was working on him—but not forever…and she knew that.

"I'm not going to attack you," he said, holding up his arms in surrender. He continued when her wand lowered. "Why exactly did you give us that admittedly lame excuse to go see Dumbledore if you're just going to come up here instead?" he asked, the question just slipping out.

She gazed at him shrewdly but not harshly. Like she was searching for deceit. Apparently she didn't find any at the moment, because she took a rattling sigh and rubbed her face, which helped nothing. "Because I didn't want to answer so many questions, Potter. Because your little rat 'friend' there is more of a traitor than you'll ever know, and because I don't want to tell the whole world about my whole fucking life, damn it!"

Her words echoed both in his mind and off of the rocks and castle walls many feet away. He looked down for a moment, then back up at her. "Yeah…I know the feeling. Like you want nothing else to be alone, but when you're by yourself, you want company. You don't know which one feels better, or which one is more right. You blame yourself for your calamities and you berate yourself over and over on what you could have done. But the sad, simple truth is that you can't go back and change things, and you have to live with what happened…even if it means living a lie," He hadn't ever spoken like that before, but he just felt the thoughts turn into words flow out of his mouth like he was being possessed.

She studied him, astounded that this person in front of her—the cocky, smartass prankster that most of the school and people in her life had grown to love—was actually voicing her exact thoughts aloud. That this man could possibly know what she was feeling. _Was _it plausible that he had felt the same things? Was it plausible that he knew what she was going through without actually asking her? The questions whirred in her aching mind, and she wanted nothing better than to be in the arms of her best friend again.

She hugged herself, trying to imagine it was Harry, or even Ron. It didn't help. She still felt the empty, hollow feeling inside of her, the biting chill making it worse; mocking her. Imitating her. She closed her eyes trying to visualize their once-smiling faces looking back at her…laughing back at her…laughing _with _her. Tried to block out the pale, cold shells of her friends' dead bodies, their eyes dull and lifeless, the light gone forever. Her eyes snapped open again, once more wishing to just wake up and find out this was just a horrible dream and Ron and Harry would go make fun of her again, but it didn't happen. Instead, she was honestly surprised to see the man in front of her swim in her cloudy vision, and vaguely, she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks. Strangely, at the moment, she didn't care that he was watching her every emotion, her every action. In fact, she almost welcomed it. Not because she wanted someone to see her weakness, but because she thought that maybe this person could care. Could _understand_.

She felt him move closer to her from his standing position a few feet away, and he came to sit next to her—not close enough to suggest anything, but just close enough to say that he was there. "You know, you shouldn't always trust first impressions of people. Especially Peter. I mean, yeah, he's pretty pathetic sometimes, but he—"

And her stone, yard-thick walls were back up, the invisible dams holding up her unshed tears behind her dark, dank, lifeless eyes. Her wand was still at her side, but James would almost rather have that against his neck than her icy stare. "Don't you EVER say that bastard's name again, do you hear me? Don't you _EVER _mention him near me again! You have no idea what he's done, so don't defend him to me! Don't do it!" she yelled in his face.

To her displeasure, he didn't grimace, scowl, nod, flinch, or do anything in particular. He just sat there, his face betraying nothing, yet at the same time not implying anything. For the very first time in her life, she was perplexed by this behavior. "I think it's fairly safe of me to say that someone here needs anger management. Though I would say that any previous notions of bottling up your fury are well finished." He said, but her glare did not shimmer. "Look, I'm not trying to upset you, alright? But you can't get pissed at every little thing. I'm just trying to help. If you're going to _Avada _me, do it. But I've never been one for exposition, okay?"

She felt the rage boil up inside of her; she felt her blood bubbling over with spite and hate. How DARE he mock her now? How DARE he make fun of her pain? _Little? LITTLE? _He had NO idea what she was going through! Before she knew it, her shaking hand was up and further slapped across his no more jovial face, the force of it a hundredfold from the time she slapped Malfoy all the way back in their third year. That had felt good, but this one, directed not at James but at the world, felt better. She felt the sting of the contact on her hand, but she was used to pain. She was used to the hurt. And right now all she wanted to do was hit, punch, slap, kick, or otherwise dismember the next living thing she came into contact with. And at this moment, that happened to be James Potter. As she moved to this time punch him right across his smirking jaw, his own hand came up and grabbed hers by the wrist. Her fist stopped dead mid-strike, the force of his block catching her by surprise. She tried again with her left knuckles, but to no avail and, in fact, the same fate as her right. It was futile, and she knew it. She knew in her state, or rather, even if she was healthy, she was no match for him. Sure she had fought off countless men twice his size, but that was different. She had her wand, Harry, and Ron by her side. She was unstoppable then. Now…now she was vulnerable and weak.

_Weak…_ the word ricocheted in her brain, driving what little force she had left. With one last spurt of energy, she struggled fiercely against the gentle but firm hands that restricted her, then she slumped down in defeat, gaining her hands back and instead of banging them on human flesh, she decided the cold, hard dirt was a better victim. Her face joined the soil, the tearstains now changing into more dirt stains, joining the others. She inhaled the sickly sweet smell of it; almost wishing that familiar metallic scent of blood was there, her eyes closed, desperately wishing all the pain to wash away…all her nightmares to join the crumbling leaves sailing off into the distance.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, or how long, if at all, the boy stayed with her, all she knew was that all of a sudden, her brain switched to hopeful illusion mode, and she started hallucinating. Her right hand groped beside her, and finding a warm hand, she grasped it hungrily, looking up at its owner. His hazel eyes were staring at her in both confusion and finality, but to her, she did not see hazel…she saw emerald behind crooked glasses with a lightning-bolt scar and a smiling face. She put her hand palm-side up next to his cheek and she gazed at him as if he was too good to be true…which, in essence, he was. She ruffled his unruly black hair and got lost in his green eyes once more. She finally threw her arms around him, hugging his welcoming body so tightly that even if he were a mere wisp of smoke, he would not escape her. She smelled the scent only Harry had, and she laid her head on his shoulder, her hands clutching at his shirt, channeling Ron's essence through him as well. Perhaps Ron was just in detention for something and that was why he wasn't here.

"Harry, I've missed you so much, please don't leave me again," She whispered, her voice muffled.

She felt his head move slowly, hesitatingly. "I don't know who Harry is, but he's not here."

Hermione didn't move, but her mind crashed down to reality and her heart sank as it beat faster. No…no…it couldn't be happening all over again! She wouldn't let it! She didn't know why Harry was lying, but it was him! She knew it was! It…it had to be. Then she noticed the subtle yet blaring differences. This wasn't Harry's shoulder like she remembered—this one was firmer, more unwilling. That voice…it was deeper and more laughing than Harry's. This wasn't Harry.

But right now she didn't care who it was. She sobbed into their shoulder anyway, not caring anymore what happened to her. "I need Harry…come back to me, Harry…come back, Goddamn you!"

She very scarcely noticed an awkward, tentative yet somehow comforting hand on her back, and she funnily enough felt safe. His 'hug' was also vastly different from Harry's. Besides the fact that he was obviously questioning the action, it was an affectionate, grasping, heart-filling kind of hug, and the smallest part of her mind twanged with the envy of whoever was the object of his desires. Of who got to experience this on a daily basis, or else who didn't know what they could have, like Harry and Ron had always had for her. No matter what the problem had been, if it was as meaningless as the empty taunts of Malfoy or Pansy, they hugged her within seconds, no questions asked. Her hair wisped as she felt hot breath in her ear.

"You do know this is really quite weird for me, don't you?" he asked.

She shut her eyes tighter, but realized that she was thinking the same thing. Strangely reluctantly, she let go of him to look him in the eyes. For a fleeting second, she saw Harry in those eyes. There was no doubt about it. This was as close to Harry as she was now ever going to get. "Yes," she sighed, almost inaudibly, "I know."

To her disdain, he got up, his movement rippling the momentary heat that had engulfed her, and her arms were soon covered with more goosebumps, but she had no intention of rubbing them away. She was better than that. She on the other hand, did not want to get up. She wanted to stay down here by this weeping willow forever, finally disintegrating into a pitiful pile of ashes. Then at least, she would be joining Harry and Ron. Then at least she would be able to see them.

Little did she know that she would soon be lifted up by her waist into a standing position. She stumbled, her muscles locking up at the exactly _wrong_ time, and she fell into a strong chest…the one that reminded her so much of her best friend. She felt hot tears coming up, but she would not let them fall. No…she owed Harry more than that. She owed him for…for saving her life.

"I've had girls fall for me before, but not literally. You truly are just a jumble of firsts for me, aren't you, Miss…Granger, wasn't it?" he trailed.

She searched his eyes for any signs of foul play but again found none. "Yeah. H-Hermione. Hermione G-G-Granger," She stumbled, the name sounding sick on her tongue. The name that would no longer be paired with Potter and Weasley. Condescending and mocking or not from the casual Slytherin, it always felt good to hear that. At least then she knew they were in this together. Now she was alone. Frighteningly alone.

"Well, Miss Granger, you really are something. Care to accompany me back to the common room?" he asked casually, going along with her reintroduction, even though she had already enlightened him with her name. It wasn't an order, or even a sincere invitation. It was merely an honest request.

She genuinely thought about it, and the offer _was _tempting. But she couldn't face everyone else. He seemed to read her mind, but didn't say anything. "I c-can't," she muttered.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed, too quickly, and for some reason, his tone almost sounded disappointed, but she couldn't really tell. "You sure? I mean, everyone's probably in class now."

"Class…class…" a few months ago she would have twigged out for missing even a minute of a lesson. But now, it was just another meaningless word out there to bite her in the ass.

"Yes…class…you know, where they teach you stuff?" he said rhetorically. So much that it was almost mocking. But she didn't take offense.

In fact, she took it as incentive. "I guess a little while wouldn't be too horrifying," She mumbled incoherently, her voice sounding not her own. But he noticed.

He flashed her his arrogant smile and incanted a spell she couldn't hear. Before she knew it, she was on a broom holding on for dear life, her hands around the waist of her best friend's father. It was so wrong…but felt so right. It felt like…home.

* * *

PM me if you have any requests in future chapters. Thanks to:

AlexandraKathleen, Sway Pippin, Yurilune, anon., Purplebubble, Angelic Bladez, The Future Mrs. Thomas Andrew Felton, and The Almighty Cheez It.


	5. Memories

As Hermione was holding onto James's waist, flying through the air, she was overcome with a memory of her and Harry just a few days before the Final Battle. She shut her eyes tightly, trying not to remember the agony, but it came like an oncoming train:

"_Come on, Hermione. You have to have ridden a broomstick to have lived! If something happens to us, I don't want to be overcome with guilt. It's fun, I assure you."_

_He looked at her with those pleading, apple-green eyes, and she couldn't help but oblige. "Alright, alright, you win, Potter. But JUST this once." She agreed solemnly._

_Harry smiled as he retrieved his Firebolt from the ground. He lifted her up, ignoring her shriek, and put her on the broomstick behind him. He instructed her to hold on to him, and she did just in time before he took off. She let out another—this time involuntary—scream, but couldn't help but gasp at the scenery. Everything was so different from up here. She had no idea Hogwarts could look so beautiful, and she wished she had taken Harry or Ron up on their offers to ride around. They flew past the goalposts and Harry took her up and over the castle's turrets and statues, going all the way towards the Black Lake, dipping down enough so they could see their reflections in the water. He suddenly put on a spurt of speed, and Hermione endured a small whiplash at the increase, holding onto her friend tighter. He took her around to the spot where she was just moments before with James, soaring through the secluded areas of their school, enjoying the looks of their classmates taking sight of them at just the last second. He took her past a few classrooms and through the outside walkways, ducking under the beautiful arches. He did one last somersault in mid-air, and then (oddly regretfully to Hermione), landed near their tree by the lake._

_She got off, windswept but gleeful, and smiled as she gave him a hug and a swift, friendly kiss on the cheek. "Oh, Harry, that was wonderful!"  
_

_Harry also grinned, and replied, "I told you that you would like it, but did you listen to me? Nope."_

"_Oh shush. I'm just happy you did take me. You have any other adventures planned that I haven't partaken in before?"_

"_None that I can think—wait. There is _one _thing." He smiled deviously._

"_And what is that?" she asked slowly._

"_Swim in the lake of course."  
_

_A look of utter shock came over her face. "Oh no, no, no, Potter. I'm NOT doing that."_

"_Oh yes you are, Granger." He mimicked, taking her hand. _

"_Harry, you can't make me—"_

_She screamed as he pulled her with him, stepping into the frigid water. He ignored her protests, and waded in deeper, her shrieking all the time. Once they got in—clothes and all—he smiled at her. "See, it's not so bad."_

_She gave him a glare that would frighten anyone, but he was used to them, namely when he and Ron would ask her for homework help. "Y-Yes it i-i-it is, P-Potter!" she stuttered, shivering in the cold._

_He stared at her disbelievingly and ignored her. He gave a shrug and dove under the water, first casting a spell over his eyes so he could see underwater. As he had been in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament (he tried not to remember that fateful third task, as it was the one when he lost one of his classmates that he had started to befriend), and took in the vast green-colored seaweed, seeing movements in the deeper plants, knowing they were just either mermaids or grindylows. He swam farther, until he finally looked back to see his friend actually swimming towards him. He waited for her to join him, and he grinned at her. She just glared right back._

"_Wimp." He said, bubbles issuing out of his mouth._

"_I am not!" she responded, him barely catching what she said._

"_Are too." He replied, and before she could get another word in, he kicked up to the surface to get air. She followed quickly after._

"_You are infuriating, Potter."  
_

_He noticed she was no longer shivering, and there was a smile tugging at her lips. "Ah, you know you love me anyway."  
_

"_I wouldn't say love, Potter, but yes I enjoy your company quite a lot." She conceded._

_They both smiled and Harry suddenly disappeared into the lake's depths once more. She could still catch the 'catch me if you can!' before he did, however._

"_Oh, whatever will we do with you, Harry." she said to no one in particular, following her friend under the amazingly clear water._

She shivered again, and hugged the man in front of her tighter, ignoring the biting cold nipping at her hands. She couldn't believe how he stayed warm. How it seemed every guy stayed warm no matter what the temperature was. She sniffled as she noticed some of the places she and James were now passing were ones she and Harry had done not too long ago. Just the memory of it depressed her. The memory that she and he would never be able to do that again. She would have to live with the guilt her whole life.

Finally, James dismounted the broom just outside of the front doors. "Milady." He said chivalrously, holding his hand out for her to hold as she was getting off the broom.

She didn't smile—she didn't think she could ever really smile—but took his hand anyway and muttered a quick, "Thanks."

She looked up into his bright hazel eyes which were shining with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and prevent against the cold, but it was as if the wind itself had a grudge against her that she couldn't get rid of. She and James walked in silence except for another thanking from her as he held open the doors. She knew where she was walking, and the fact that he didn't know she was from the future didn't cross her mind. She just had to keep going. That's what Harry had always told her…

"_Just keep going, Hermione! Don't wait up for me! I'll be fine, just go and I'll catch up with you!"_

_Her eyes started welling up with tears at her friend's parting words, but she nodded gravely, and ran off. If only she had stayed with him…_

"_Impedimenta!" Hermione heard Harry's voice shout the spell, and she desperately longed to go back and help him, but she knew he would only go to protect her and possibly get himself killed in the process._

_Of course, while Hermione was busy focusing on Harry, she wasn't paying attention to the fact that she had just gotten hit with a curse that felt horribly like the one she endured from Antonin Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries less than two years ago. She was instantly thrown to the ground by the force of it, feeling the sharp pain cutting into her chest. She saw the leering Death Eater above her, and then suddenly he, too, was thrown to the ground. She saw Harry's crookedly-smiling face at her, and she returned it, but, unfortunately, it was only for a split second. As she got up, she nearly fell to her knees again (if it weren't for the immediate shock), as she saw Voldemort's cackling face and Harry's graceful fall to the ground…dead._

Hermione shut her eyes tight, holding her hands over her face, trying to forget the image, but it was as if it were cemented in amber, and the only way she could get it out of her brain was to perform a permanent Memory Charm. But even then, she didn't think it would be gone forever. She didn't even know how exactly he died—whether it was in her arms like in her nightmares, or just after saving her, like in her memories. Frankly, however, she didn't care. She only saw his impossibly green eyes boring into her skull every time she thought of him. And unfortunately, that was often.

She suddenly got the sense that she was both being stared at, which was, depending on the way you looked at it, either a curse or a blessing. In her experience, it had turned out to be both. Casting it aside, though, she turned around to find James still at the base of the stairs. Not frowning, but sure that she would if she were more apt to emotion, she still slightly quirked an eyebrow. He started up the stairs, but slowly.

"How do you know where you're going?" he asked both slowly and skeptically, finally coming beside her, but not walking further.

"I just—do." She finished lamely. She felt red creep up into her cheeks, but little enough so that it could have just been the warmth of the castle, not any embarrassment.

"Mhm. Sure. Fancy telling me how you do?" he prodded.

She looked into his shrewd but mischievous eyes, and almost decided to divulge some information, but decided against it. "Eventually, perhaps, Potter." She replied airily.

But he wasn't one to let go of a question. He grabbed her arm, and ignored her gasp of pain, for he had grasped a rather nasty gash on her arm which was now also sporting a colorful bruise around it. "Listen. I've played stupid and welcoming before with my friends over there, but I'm not one to just drop this. I don't know who you are, or, hell, anything about you, and your circumstances of coming here are quite odd. So unless you have a way of releasing yourself, I suggest you start talking, Granger."

The way he pronounced her last name was such a mirror image of the way Harry did that she almost broke down right there. He must have noticed the change in her eyes also, because she felt his grip loosen by a fraction of an inch, yet still held onto her tight. She sighed, but not in defeat. She didn't let Voldemort order her around, and she wasn't about to let this pompous, conceited, Harry look-alike do it either. She decided to go with a nice approach first.

"Please let me go, Potter." She asked, faking nicety, and tried to pry his fingers from her arm, but to no avail. "Look," she said resignedly, "if you don't let me go, I'll make you. Trust me, I know more spells than you will probably ever hope to, including some rather grotesque ones, so if you don't want them practiced on you, I suggest you release me at once."

To her immense displeasure, however, he merely smirked and switched his weight from his left to right foot. "I don't doubt that you know many, but what I do doubt is your ability to perform them in your current position and state. Merlin knows you've been through hell, and it doesn't take a genius to know that your magical abilities are somewhat controlled by your emotions. Take metamorphagi, for instance. I have something like a fourth cousin, twice removed, two times divorced (or something like that), who's one, and upon the death of his mother, he couldn't color his hair anymore. Which was honestly a good thing if you ask me."

His attempt at humor only made Hermione's sadness increase. The moment he said 'metamorphagi', she instantly thought of Tonks, especially when Tonks was still despairing over Lupin not loving her, back in fifth year. She was hit with another memory, one she didn't really care to repeat…

"_Tonks, what are you doing? Lupin is fine battling Malfoy! Don't go in there, Tonks, you'll be killed!"_

"_I don't care, Hermione, and honestly he means more to me than my own life! Please don't interfere! You know you and Ginny are like sisters to me, but I can't ignore what I feel for him. Please, you have to let me help him."_

_Hermione looked desperately at her to stay, but she merely responded with an apologetic glance, before running off to help Lupin. "Tonks, no! Stay back there!" Hermione heard Lupin yell to Tonks as he was fighting Lucius._

"_Remus, I'm not leaving you! I love you!"_

_In the split second Lupin took to look at her, Malfoy switched his wand to Tonks and carelessly sent a jet of bright green light towards her. The last thing Hermione saw of Tonks was her goofy smile and a brief hair-change color before Tonks, too, fell to the ground dead. Hermione looked to Lupin, and her heart broke. His wand had dropped to the ground, his gray eyes wide, as he stared down at her petite, fallen, body. He fell to his knees beside her, brushing back her now fuchsia hair, and looked longingly into her bright brown eyes. Hermione watched sadly as he shakily kissed her forehead, and stood up to face Malfoy. To her surprise, he held out his arms in a surrendering motion._

"_Please kill me, Lucius, please. I beg of you. Just kill me now." Lupin used a tone of voice Hermione had never heard him use before. It was pleading; desperate. Lupin was not one to beg people, and she hated the reason why._

_To Hermione's utter distaste, Malfoy laughed. "Oh, so you can be with your half-blood girlfriend there? Nah, I don't think I will."_

_He turned to go, but Lupin stopped him. "Then I will kill you."_

_This got Malfoy's attention. He turned slowly to look at the defeated man. He shrugged as if this were merely an unimportant business transaction. "Alright, you really want me to kill you? Then...Avada Kedavra! You're welcome. God, so ungrateful these days."_

_He brushed his hands together, leaving Lupin fallen next to Tonks, his arm strangely laid around her. Hermione gasped in surprise at the two bodies of her most beloved comrades and confidantes, but she knew she couldn't really dwell on them, as that would just distract her from her ultimate goal…helping Harry killing as many Death Eaters and, hopefully, Voldemort, as she could. Still, her heart was torn two different directions—whether to just leave her two friends' bodies there, or go help. Shutting her eyes and, frankly, pissed at herself, she turned and ran, but she knew that cloud of guilt would hang over her head forever…and indeed it did._

She was shaken (literally) out of her rather horrid memories by James's jolting her, his hands on her shoulders. She looked up into his eyes, and she thought she saw Harry in them—smiling—for a fleeting moment. It was then that she realized this whole "being back twenty years in the past with her friend's father" thing might not be so bad. After all, what _did _she have to lose?

"If you would mind not shaking me again, Potter, I'd be much appreciative." She stated, and, indeed, her head was starting to pound.

He smiled and nodded twice. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."

In spite of her circumstances, she couldn't help but grin a little bit. Her mouth and cheeks hurt from the effort, for she hadn't smiled in a long time, but it was a start. "Damn straight, Potter."

He threw his arm around her, albeit aching, shoulders, completely careless of everything. And yet, there was an air of responsibility about him, and she admired that. Maybe there was more to the prankster than everyone said. Be it her place to say or not, she knew there was more to this James Potter than met the casual eye.

* * *

As Remus, Sirius, and Peter burst out of the excruciatingly dull History of Magic class and joined the throngs of people, they couldn't help but wonder where their fourth friend had gone. While he (well, and the others) had been known to skive off on a class or two, it wasn't like him to leave without a just explanation. Just as in planning their next encounter with Snape. Not going on wild niffler chases after a mysterious girl who tried to kill their little rat-like friend.

"What d'you think Prongsie is going to do? She didn't exactly seem like the talking sort if you know what I mean." Sirius said. That's pretty much all they had talked about during the lesson…not that Professor Binns could hear them at all.

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to think of an answer. "Padfoot, I really don't know. I would like to know who she is also. People don't just come to Hogwarts looking like that and doing what she did. It just doesn't happen."

"Well," a panting voice piped up from behind them, "I don't think we should get too close to her."

Sirius and Remus stopped and waited for no less than twenty seconds for Peter to catch up. They hadn't heard him. "Did you say something, Wormie?" Sirius asked.

"Don't call me 'Wormie', and yes I did say something, thank you very much." Peter said indignantly.

"Well?"

"I said I don't think we should get too close to her." He repeated.

Peter's two friends looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding?" Remus asked, quite out of character for him, considering he was always the level-headed one. "The biggest anomaly has arrived right in front of us and you want us to just let it be? She knows something huge, I can just feel it. We have to at least _try _and find out who she is and what happened."

Sirius was shocked for just a moment, then he threw one arm around his friend. "I wholeheartedly agree, Moony, old chap. Maybe Prongs has got something out of her?"

"We'll hope so." Remus added as they continued to climb the never-ending (almost literally) stairs, Peter trailing, now far, behind them.

* * *

"So." James said simply, flinging himself into one of the red armchairs by the brightly glowing fire.

Hermione was standing, rubbing her left forearm awkwardly, looking around the all-too familiar surroundings…

"_Harry, it's Accio, not Incendio!" Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly, as she put out yet another small fire on the carpet with her wand._

_Harry dropped his and covered his face in exhaustion. "Hermione, I can't do this. I don't have the skills to compete in this stupid tournament! How the hell am I supposed to battle a dragon if I can't even get a damn Summoning Spell to work?"_

_Hermione went over to where he was now laying in the armchair, and she sat herself down on the arm of it. "Harry, it's three a.m., of course you're going to get it wrong a few times! You'll do great, I know it, Harry. Better than Pretty Miss Fleur over there, enchanting anyone in sight. At least you'll have talent, Harry. Don't worry, you'll get through this. I'm sure whichever lunatic put your name in that goblet wanted you to at least get through the First Task."_

_Harry looked up at her through tired green eyes. "Oh, thanks for the encouragement, Hermione. I'll die after this task, is that it?"_

_Hermione looked horrified. "No, no, no, Harry, I didn't mean it like that! I just mean that even though they, of course, underestimated you, they probably counted on your surviving—and winning—this whole tournament. Come on, Harry, I know you. You're not one to give up and I—Am—Not—Going—To—Let—You—Off—The—Hook this time!"_

_He gave her a weak half-smiled, but nodded gravely. "Yeah, okay, you win."_

"_I thought so. Now get your lazy butt up, mister, and Summon me that pillow!"_

_Harry, overdramatically, took a deep breath, going the whole nine yards by using his hands and everything. He smiled as he saw Hermione roll her eyes. Shutting his and praying it would go right, he concentrated on the pillow and, "Accio!"_

_The fluffy object from twenty feet away sailed through the air, hitting Harry square in the face. Hermione laughed as she saw him throw it to the side, his glasses askew from the impact. He threw it at her playfully, but she still didn't stop laughing. Despite his aim being slightly off, she was proud of him. At least he got the spell once._

"_That was great, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed once she got her breath back. "I think you've really got it now! Now I know your broom will be a lot farther away, but just concentrate, and I know you can do it. Just pretend your Summoning it from only twenty feet away like we are now, and it'll come to you. Try one more time, Harry."_

_He performed the spell flawlessly four more times, finally getting up to Summoning two History of Magic books, which were no light reading. "Yes! At least I can Summon books! Thank you so much, Hermione. I'd never be able to do this without you."_

"_Oh, tosh. You would, too. Now let's get you into bed so you have at least a few hours of sleep before the task. Go on! Off to bed!" she commanded, shooing him up the staircase, before restoring order to the Common Room and going to bed herself._

Hermione must have had a glazed, far-off look, because James once again shot her out of her reminders. At least they were getting somewhat more pleasant. Sort of. "What?" she asked, blinking furiously.

"I just asked you where you're from." He said casually, in the same position he was moments before.

"Oh. I'm from Hog—" she started, but stopped, remembering that in her time, the only thing left of Hogwarts was a rusty, molding old sign telling any Muggles that should come to pass to Keep Out.

James frowned, and his eyes seemed darker than before. He said nothing, but she knew he caught her mistake. She, however, was saved from a loud bang of the portrait hole opening and a shrill, "SIRIUS BLACK!" from the Fat Lady. Hermione would have snickered if she could.

"Prongs, we need to t—oh, hi…Granger, wasn't it?" Sirius changed questions.

Hermione caught the slip, but she wouldn't let on. "Yes. Hermione Granger."

She noticed Peter was cowering against the portrait backing, and she smirked. "James, can I see you for a _moment_, please?" Sirius asked. Hermione knew when he used James's real name that he wasn't wanting to tell him some superfluous thing.

James shot her a glance, but turned back to Sirius. "Yeah, alright."

They walked over to the corner and started speaking quietly so Hermione didn't hear. Remus took to talking to her. "The name's Remus Lupin in case you were wondering." He said, smiling.

"I wasn't." her eyes widened at her impossibly rude response. "I—I mean, I—was, it's just I—I mean, well, hello." She finished.

He didn't seem to take offense, but rather enjoyed her 'eloquent' fumbling. "Hey, I've been wondering…what was that spell you used on Peter? I've just been thinking about it and I've never heard, come across, or otherwise know at all of it, and I was just wondering exactly how you did it."

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "You mean you're not completely pissed that I cursed him? Not that I regret it, because I wholeheartedly don't, but you're not?"

Remus smiled again, to Hermione's surprise. Wasn't he angry? "Of course I am, I mean, you could have fucking killed him! However, I can't say you don't interest me. Not in _that _way (no offense), but you, Miss Granger, are intriguing."

Hermione gasped at Lupin's language, as she had never heard him swear before, and she was surprised he did it now. "Oh. Well. Thank you I guess. And the spell didn't have a name. It was just the incantation. _Maledictio _is what its called." She conceded.

"Maledictio?" Remus asked, glad his wand wasn't pointed at anything. "You mean the Latin word for 'curse'? How convenient."

She was surprised at his knowledge of the Latin language, concerning it was dead, but she retained her awe. "That's the one."

"Good to know. Might as well have that one in my memory in case I ever need it."

"Will you ever." Hermione said sadly.

"What was that?" Remus asked quickly.

"Nothing. It was nothing." Hermione cast her eyes to the floor. "Nothing at all."

"Sure." Remus said, but she knew he didn't believe her.

"Well, gents and milady, we have some discussing to do." James announced as he and Sirius joined Hermione and Remus, and while James's voice was joking at first, it definitely wasn't at the end.

Hermione felt herself getting nervous as to what the "discussion" might be, but she tried to hide any visible signs and said nothing. "And what would that be?" Lupin requested.

"Why Miss Hermione here of course."

"I—what?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"You know, where you're from and all that jazz."

"Oh. That. I can't really…I mean, I just…I can't." Hermione excused.

Sirius and James took her by the arms and sat her in a chair. "Now you sit here, missy, and tell us everything."

She looked up into their gleeful yet intrigued faces, and was almost inclined to divulge all of her information. "I told you, goddamnit, I can't!"

They all frowned at her outburst, and watched her as she stood up indignantly. "Oh, I see. You're really a man!" Sirius gasped.

"I am not you wiseassed little misdemeanor!" Hermione shot back, honestly astounded.

"Mhm." James joined in.

"I cannot believe you two!"

"But you can't resist us either."

"I resent that."

"Resent away, my dear."

Hermione's eyes narrowed into slits, but she found her mouth twitching, and it almost formed into a smile. It was then when she realized that she was actually _enjoying _their company. It was then that she realized she had started crying from the thought that she was having 'fun' here while Harry must be turning in his grave right about now. Barely noticing her actions, she ran out of the Common Room, not caring that she had pushed Peter to the ground in her haste. Her last fleeting thought was that he deserved it.

* * *

**Wow this was longer. I hope you liked it, and I'm sorry for the wait. Many thanks to (though I didn't get as many as I would have hoped):**

**iNsAnE-HaLf-wOlF, SwayPippin, Pocket Dog, Angelic Bladez, xxxCheezItxxx, The Future Mrs. Thomas Andrew Felton, Tahari (**once again, thank you for pointing out my error, and I think I fixed it**), Yurilune (**I don't know what I'd do without your wonderful reviews! Thank you so much!**), and Purplebubble.**

**And, once again, to those who read, then leave. Hint hint. Please take just 30 seconds out of your life to review, because it really makes my day. Thanks.**


	6. Meetings

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Six: Meetings_

* * *

James, Sirius, Remus, and even Peter—though the latter not failing to release a fearful shudder at just the thought of his attacker—all shot each other quizzical glances, as if trying to extract the reason out of the others as to Hermione's strange exit. None of them knew. They couldn't explain it. The only possible thing they could come up with was that it had something to do with whatever had happened to her, but unfortunately, they knew neither hide nor hair of what it was. Not James, who had escorted her to the Common Room still had no idea, other than that her life had, well, sucked beyond belief. Even Remus, the reserved bookworm, didn't have the faintest idea, though he was desperately trying to put together clues in the hope he'd figure it out soon. As for the other two…well, they were pretty much useless, despite Sirius's almost insurmountable ingenuity.

"Well, wasn't that, um, interesting," Lupin said sarcastically, breaking the bemused silence.

His comment was greeted by mere mumbles from his friends, who were all too caught up in their own thoughts—except Peter, who was still involuntarily twitching—to pay attention to Remus's statement, let alone answer. If it wasn't such an odd stillness, Remus might have laughed, simply at the absence of obnoxious outbursts from James, or at least Sirius. As it was though, he couldn't. For he, also, was perplexed by this new entrant to their lives. Luckily for him, however, a certain redhead came walking gracefully down the stairs, for the moment unconcerned as to the uniform but unvoiced thoughts from the four downstairs.

He sighed in relief, as Lily's arrival, if anything, would break up the tense monotony. He casually looked over at his hazel-eyed friend's face, laughing inwardly at the double take he took. James had not, apparently, at first noticed Lily's appearance, and so when he did, his face, while not blushing exactly, certainly brightened. At this, Remus knew all contemplations about Hermione were rapidly pushed to the back of his mind.

The rather conspicuous straightening of James's body position and the customary ruffling of his hair seemed to alert Sirius and Peter as well, Peter evidently not catching on to James's reaction quite as fast as Remus or Sirius. Shooting his stormy gaze from James to Lily, Sirius took no hesitation in rolling his eyes rather obviously. He gave a mock bow to Lily, succeeding in making James silently fume, and then pay unusually rapt attention to the scene that was inevitable to unfold.

"Potter. Sirius. Remus," Lily said in greeting, and for a reason neither Sirius nor Remus knew, James seemed to have taken a liking to the fact that he was the only one Lily referred to by last name only.

She had usually always been on a first-name and friendly basis with Lupin, and it was luck of the draw, depending on Sirius's actions, as to what she called Sirius. But James, she seemed to continuously ignore that he actually had a first name. Unless, of course, she was loudly and furiously reprimanding him, in which case she used his entire birthright, much to his embarrassment and dismay.

"Oh, _Lily_!" Sirius said happily. "How nice of you to j—ouch! Damn, what was that for, Moony?"

For Remus had promptly, once again, socked Sirius in the arm, having actually noticed the reaction that James had, yet again, to Lily's presence. Sirius looked for a moment as if he was to retort, but then, though not without faking or seriously sulking, crossing his arms over his chest. Instead, he, like Remus, decided to watch what was going on with his best friend and best friend's affection. Remus had a shrewd idea that one of the only reasons Sirius was actually staying quiet was to find some piece of blackmail he could use over James to his advantage.

James, meanwhile, was still enraptured with Lily, as he barely blinked, as though hoping that if he didn't, she would stay longer or show him more attention. "E—Evans," he said breathlessly.

As she headed towards the portrait hole, he briskly, but not failing to trip over Sirius's foot—whether placed on purpose or by coincidence—came up to her. Lily, having quite noticed James's slip, looked at him with a mix of contempt and exasperation. "Something you want, Potter?"

His face inherited a faint tinge of crimson, but he recovered quickly…sort of. "What would make you think that?"

Lily shot her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, like she was praying for patience. It seemed she had come to realize what James's intents were, and while she didn't necessarily want to be overly rude, it was plain she didn't want to be here either. "Oh, I don't know, James…perhaps the fact that for the past six years or so, you have not yet abandoned your fantasy of asking me out at _least _once a month? Haven't you gotten the answer in your mind, yet?"

Sirius snickered rather loudly, ignoring the looks of annoyance he got from not only Lily, but from Remus as well. Peter was not, apparently, remotely interested in the conversation and was staring somewhere near the crystally windows. Perhaps it was Lily's ultimate use of James's first name or by Sirius's laughs or by just some random leap of inspiration, but James bore no mind to Sirius's still effective sniggers, and straightened himself up, staring Lily determinedly into her eyes. She looked disgruntled at this for a minute, but then regained her composure in a way Hermione would have been proud; more so when they were all in their prime years there at Hogwarts.

"Well, Evans," James began, gaining confidence by the second. "If you noticed that, then you also know that there's a Hogsmeade weekend in a couple days. That I would be ever so delighted if you could join me at."

Lily's face flickered for a moment, but then steeled again. "And what would make you think this time was any different, James?"

James, for a few seconds, looked disgruntled, but then remained as confident as ever. "Well, first off, you've just now called me James, which is quite an improvement from before, and secondly, you know you just want to go with me. I know you do."

Whether it was Lily's mild hesitation, the subdued blush into her cheeks, or a simple lack of his talking time, Sirius took the invitation to exacerbate. "WHAT!" he exclaimed loudly. "_You _want to go out with _him _after six, almost seven straight years of declining? Are you _insane _or just plain stupid, Evans? Come on, help me out here!"

Remus turned sharply to Sirius at his last comment, and spoke in hushed undertones while Lily took a few more moments of silence. "What are you talking about?" Remus hissed. "How could she help you?"

"Prongs and I have a bet," Sirius responded without a hint of regret. "Ten Galleons she goes our entire school career on whether she accepts his dates or not. I've only got a little more to go!"

Remus pursed his lips as if torn between wanting to tell them off for betting, let alone on something as trivial as this, and joining in on their exploits. He, however, was saved from more pondering by Lily's final response. Or, semblance of, rather. "I—well…" she stuttered.

Everyone present's eyes were now on her, which could have accounted for part of her imbalance, but not for all. James was staring intently at her, as though if he did, it would bend her answer in his favor. "Come on, Lils," he said, ignoring that she wasn't exactly fond of the nickname. "What'll it hurt? Just one measly day. It won't kill you."

"For starters, Sirius," she said, reacquiring her voice. "I never said I'd go with him." James's face fell, and Lily's eyes only glanced on it for a moment, before the red in her face deepened to a slightly darker shade as, though she didn't lose her voice again, her flustered look still remained. "And also…well, I don't know. I just thought that maybe—well, since no one has really—that is, I'm just thinking that since no one has really shown particular _interest _in me up until now—well, I just thought…"

Sirius's eyebrows rose at Lily's near acceptance, and for once he was legitimately floored. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Oh, come _off _it, Sirius!" Remus said, his tone irritated. "Let the poor girl answer!"

Lily glanced at Remus in small gratitude, before barely meeting James's excited eyes. He certainly wasn't making any motion to hide his pleasure. "Y-You're serious?" he asked finally.

She downcast her green eyes to the carpet once before, almost defiantly, going up to James's once more. This time she spoke, though, it was more authoritative than indecisive. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Potter," she said, taking his last name once more. "If only to keep you from harassing me every minute you get! I suppose I'll—I suppose I'll see you Saturday then. Good day to you all. Sirius, quit it, will you?"

She looked like she would like nothing better than to give Sirius a good slap for all the laughter and amusement he was getting out of this, but instead strode towards the portrait hole once more, possibly with more indignation than normal, but there was an air about her, an unsettled but yet pleased feeling, that most likely did not come from the promise of schoolwork. Barely out of the Common Room, James rounded on Sirius, his eyes positively glittering with happiness. Remus had some sort of indescribable emotion on his face, one that couldn't really be attributed to anything else.

"Did she just—?"

"Yes."

"Did you see—?"

"Yes."

"But she hasn't—"

"I know."

"She accepted!"

"WE KNOW ALREADY, PRONGS, NOW STUFF IT!" Sirius yelled before James could beat any other confirmations from Sirius.

"But—" he started, then was very strangely, very uncharacteristically, hushed by a glare from Sirius.

"We get it!" Sirius said again, now fully antagonized. He was glad for his friend, yes, but he knew from the result of Lily's answer that it would be quite a while before he heard the end of it. Past Saturday, that much was for sure. "Now go upstairs before you hurt yourself."

James oddly followed Sirius's instructions, more floating than walking, up the stairs once more to the boys' dormitories, leaving Sirius and Remus to exchange equal looks of dread and trepidation, though grins were barely concealable beneath it all. Peter seemed positively oblivious to the entire memorable conversation that had just erupted, as he turned to Remus and Sirius with a questioning look, Lupin and Sirius elapsing into a fit of snickers at the sight.

* * *

Hermione stormed through the castle, leaving a wake of fury and frustration behind her. The few straggler students that were clinging to the halls stared at her like she had just grown two heads. Or else that if they didn't stay in groups, they'd be picked off one by one by her purely hatred-filled expression. She ignored their small little inquisitive minds; she had more to deal with than miniature first years. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she really care. She just had to get away from that horrid, annoying, tempting…_happy_…environment. She then stopped so suddenly her sneakers squeaked on the floor. She swore she had just heard a voice she never thought she would again, except in her own mind.

"H-Harry?" she asked shakily, looking all around her, hopefully. She felt somewhat stupid doing so, but she couldn't help it. Her trained eyes scanned the impending darkness, searching for where he might have been hiding. Before she could stop herself, she ventured, "Harry, this isn't funny!"

She felt the tingle run down her spine again—it was like ice sliding down her back, causing her shivering at the touch. It had to be him. She couldn't mistake it. His…ghost? She shrunk to the floor in despair, her head in her hands. She had been so close to seeing him again. So close, only to have it yanked away from her again. All she wanted was to see him again; solid, obviously, if possible, but if nothing else than a Peeves or Nearly Headless Nick apparition. At least then she could get some closure or something. She didn't want closure, mind you; she just wanted to see something more of him than his still warm but undoubtedly dead body. Her eyes were glassy as she stared into space. What was she doing? Hearing voices? For what? A small glimmer or light in her deep darkness? She really was falling apart if she let herself anticipate his return. He had been her closest friend, despite Ron's continuous friendly advances on her, and she stuck by him, no matter what anyone said. It was only natural she'd have strife in letting him go. Harry had remained truest to her down to the very last. He had been nothing but kind, supportive, and congenial towards her, wanting nothing else but to be her friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Their bond was closer than she had ever felt with anyone; even her parents didn't compete. She could tell him anything, and she hoped that he could have; she felt he could have, at least. And now he was gone. Now the hole in her heart gaped bigger than ever, especially now that she was in the time he should have been in with her. She couldn't handle it, being here with his parents—who were dead—his godfather—also dead—everyone's favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—again…dead—everyone. If someone was to time travel, it should have been him, not her. Not Hermione, the unimportant know-it-all who didn't really have any true purpose in the world except getting in the way, a few good hexes up her sleeve.

She imagined her parents telling her the oldest saying in the book, especially when she was little—"Honey, life isn't fair sometimes." She scoffed. Sometimes. Would they have said that if they knew they were going to be killed by Voldemort? To her, life was never fair. It was like life and fate itself had some sort of predestined vendetta towards her and she was powerless to stop it. No matter how hard she tried, she could not escape the violent holds of providence; couldn't escape its chokehold on her. It was like she was the marionette and some higher power was some evil, sadistic puppeteer, concentrated on causing her life to be a hellhole that she knew now it was. It showed no mercy, nor did it seem to balance out its wrath. No…slimy, filthy people like Malfoy and Parkinson and Nott got to have the perfect, carefree, vindictive lives. On the run perhaps, but at least most of their lives were still intact. But she, the follow-the-rules, generally nice to everyone, Gryffindor had to have the shitty life. The irony killed her. Just about literally. Hell, it might as well have, considering she didn't have anything left anymore.

She looked up to the ceiling, to be met with only blackness. "Why?" she asked to it. "Why me? What the _hell_ have I ever done to you? Why must you incinerate me so? I don't deserve this. I don't, goddamnit! And so help me, if you even MANAGE to make my life worse than the bottomless pit it already is, I will kill whomever you are, no questions asked, got it? I _will _find a way! I'll avenge you, Harry, Ron…I promise you that."

She looked miserably into her hands after a few minutes of having no response from the blackened ceiling. She was only brought out of her wallowing by a voice so close to the one she was desperate for that she almost renewed excitement. Almost. "Hermione?" it asked.

Hermione met his eyes, confirming her disappointments of seeing hazel as opposed to the green she so desired…so _needed_. "Oh. You. Hi." She said flatly.

James came to come sit beside her (apparently done fantasizing in his room about Lily), leaned up against the wall, not looking at her, but rather following her line of vision. She resisted the urge to go hug him and curse at him for playing dead, when she realized that even though he was now doing _exactly_ what Harry used to do—sit beside her and just silently comfort her, that is—he wasn't Harry, nor would he ever be. She just had to accept it. It was just so hard to, so tortuous, but she had to face it; he wasn't Harry, no matter how much he may look like him. Mrs. Weasley was right when she said that to Sirius—Harry wasn't James. She just didn't know if she could ever just blindly forget her best friend of seven years. She didn't think she had it in her, strong as she was.

"Yes, me," James said, his voice low and quiet. He gestured around them, Hermione barely able to see his arm in the darkness. "So is this where you ran off to so fast? This dingy little corridor? Not the most cheery place if you ask me."

Her eyes blazed with fury at his mocking, but she was too drained to do anything about it. Why they were so vexed, she didn't really know. In truth, James hadn't done anything, and it wasn't right to take it out on him, much as she needed to do it to someone. Still, her voice was drenched with intimidation. Nevertheless, if it was the reminiscing on Harry or something else, she managed to work her vocal chords again, scathingly directing them at the man next to her.

"Not the most cheery?" she said, her tone an octave higher than it usually was. "Not the most _cheery? _You expect me to be cheery after every fucking thing that has happened with Vold—after everything? How you are so wrong, Potter…you are so wrong…"

He stared at her until she was tired of it and finally met his unusually intense gaze. She felt a fluttering in her stomach and passed it off as the fact that she hadn't eaten in forty-eight hours. She made a miniscule note to find something to scrounge off of. "Then tell me what's right, Granger," he said in an uncommonly comforting voice. "I can't help you if you don't."

His tone was so sincere, so…_Harry_…that she honestly felt the words start to slip from her tongue. "You can't help me, James," she murmured almost incoherently. "No one can help me now. I'm stuck here."

"Bullshit, Granger," he said with conviction.

She looked at him with a combination of being mystified and incensed at his words. That was one difference, she noticed. Harry never swore. No matter what the instance was, no matter how pissed he got, he never swore. At least not in her presence or at her, anyway. "Excuse me?" she asked hoarsely.

"You heard me," James said, his voice not having changed its forcefulness. "I don't understand what you mean by you're stuck here. I may not be the most attentive person in the world, but I do know that giving up when you've obviously got resources to choose from is not the thing to do. You can do whatever you want if you set your mind to it, and it's pointless to pretend otherwise. I'm not into giving pep speeches, but seriously…perk up. You're making the whole castle's mood dreary and you're making all the first years drop in fright. And just _tell me_ what's the problem, will you? Maybe I _can _do something, much as you say I can't. Try me, Hermione. Just try me."

She looked at him differently now. There was no disdain or abhorrence in his eyes now, just the pure want to help. She appreciated his endeavors, she really did, and she wanted to indulge everything; oh, how she wanted to. She just didn't feel he was trustworthy enough yet. Or maybe, as she had startlingly come to another possible realization, she just wasn't ready to tell anyone. It was too fresh to her, and she felt that even telling Dumbledore took too much out of her. Maybe she'd tell him eventually; maybe she'd tell them all, but for now, he'd have to deal with it. And yet…something in his tone of voice made her thing he could have some sort of ulterior plan in knowing her secrets, whether it was just her being paranoid or not. He got up to walk away from her in her wake of being thoughtful to herself, and before she could stop herself, she called out to him in the darkness.

"Potter!" she said, and despite the lowered volume of her voice, it still echoed on the stone walls around her. "What did you mean?"

He turned around, and a flicker of a smirk was on his face, but she tried to overlook it. "When?"

"When you said you could help. What exactly did you mean by that?" she asked, starting to feel foolish now that her musings were aloud.

"I don't know," he said with a noncommittal shrug. "Just figured it sounded good at the time."

Her eyes narrowed in anger, as she stood up, precariously stumbling for a moment. "And is there _anything _you actually say with truth inside of it? Or are you just full of petty excuses and broken promises? What sense of morality or goals do you have?"

Even though his back was to her, she could tell he was smirking, though there was a slight air to him that indicated annoyance. "Of course there is, Granger," he said nonchalantly, but continued when she opened her mouth to say something. "But you know, if you're just going to be attacking me with everything I say, nothing I say will matter, now will it? Plus, I've got better things to do than just sit here, so if you'll excuse me..."

"Like what, Potter?" Hermione retorted acidly before she could stop herself. "Go ogle Lily? Yeah, because _that's _productive."

In a split second, James had rounded on her, and Hermione wasn't, to say the least, happy with the death-inducing expression he gave her. His hazel eyes were blazing, and it was at this point, perhaps for the first time, that Hermione realized he was at least a good eight inches taller than she, and was quite a bit heavier. Of course, this hadn't really bothered her in the past, especially not with Harry or Ron, but she still happened to get a sliver of apprehension at the glare he was shooting at her.

"Look, Granger," James started, his voice low. "I've been tolerant up until now. What with all your secrecy and unexplained actions, but you've gone too far this time. There are only so many things you can get away with, which a lot of I've—Sirius, Remus, and Peter, too—granted, but when you insult Lily, that's—"

"Potter?" a soft voice came from behind him. They both looked over his shoulder to see none other than the infamous Lily Potter—well, Evans at that point. Hermione, even in the dim light, could see her dark, vibrant sanguine-colored hair and her brilliant green eyes—Harry's eyes.

James forgot his anger for a moment in the distraction Lily brought. Hermione couldn't lie and say she wasn't grateful to the beautiful, highly intelligent witch for her impeccable timing. "Evans. W-What brings you here?"

"I was under the assumption that this castle is open for anyone to roam, Potter," Lily snapped, although her tone was not to the high degree of loathing it usually was.

Hermione almost felt James's distrust and resentment towards her slide off of him at his current infatuation's arrival. "No—I mean, yes...it is," James amended, an almost unnoticeable tinge of vermillion creeping into his face.

Lily paused for a moment, her expression one of pondering. "So...what exactly did you mean by that?" she asked. "You started to say something about me to, well, to whomever you're talking to."

James gave a quick glance to Hermione's half-shadowed form, who, to his thanks, had stayed silent. Truthfully, Hermione was fascinated now by seeing the reaction between Harry's teenaged parents. And at the fact Lily hadn't questioned as to whom James was just conversing. She imagined it would make whatever James and Lily had to discuss easier, Hermione's fundamentally invisible presence.

"Oh...yeah...you—you heard that?" James asked weakly.

Lily gave a near inconspicuous smile. "Yes, of course I did," she said quietly.

James looked flustered for a minute, but regained his nature rather admirably. "So what exactly made you come to this part of the castle? That is, it's firstly a rather deserted corridor, and there's discernibly no students out of bed at this hour...I mean, besides us, obviously."

Lily didn't falter, but instead answered in the same soft decibel. "Well, to be honest, looking for you," she said. At James's practically floored countenance, she acquired more of her previous timbre that she so often used with James. "Not you _specifically_. I had just finished my rounds of the castle—if you remember, Deirdre Finnigan,—" (Hermione gave a jolt as she realized Deirdre must have been Seamus's mother...she felt a twinge of guilt at that she had never truly gotten to know him and she didn't even know what had happened to him after she, Ron, and Harry had gone off fighting) "—the girl Prefect of Gryffindor, got hit with that jinx by Thomas Harrington and is still in the Hospital Wing, when I heard you talking to someone. Thus, I came over here to tell you off, which, mind you, I still have half a thought to do so. And so here we are."

"Yeah, I guess so," said James absently.

"At least I have an excuse, Potter," Lily injected. "What's yours? What did you mean by it?"

"I—I meant what I said, Lily," James began sedately. "I mean, you of all people should know that…how I feel about you."

Lily frowned, though Hermione could tell she was doing some rather quick thinking, coming around to a fairly single conclusion. "James, what are you—"

In those two seconds it took Lily to start to ask James a question, he had captured her lips with his, the moment he had been waiting for for seven years finally came true. And to everyone present's surprise, she didn't pull away; on the contrary, she looked as though she had expected it, if not subconsciously wanted it. To say the least, she was definitely kissing him back with her own passion and desire. Not exactly the reluctant and stubborn Lily anymore…not the epitome of dislike Hermione had always heard about. As she glanced at them, she felt this was quite awkward, her being there, and so she quietly slipped out of sight—not that they probably would have noticed her—not completely able to contain a miniscule smile as to how cute of a couple they were; Harry certainly had missed out on growing up, not being able to know them.

However, as Hermione was starting to trudge up to the Gryffindor Tower—she figured she was too tired to find any other place so she'd just crash on the couch, making a note to ask Dumbledore about more permanent sleeping arrangements later—she was stopped by a hand on her arm. She was about ready to get her wand out and curse whomever it was to the abyssal oblivion where only traitors and evildoers went, when she realized it was only the old yet seemingly misguidedly well-meaning Headmaster Dippet.

"Ah, Miss Granger, wasn't it? If you remember, me, I'm the Hogwarts Headmaster," he introduced, his scratchy voice all to evident.

She remembered. She also, sadly, knew she shouldn't use spells on him, but even so, she just did not get a warm feeling from him. Even though she couldn't help but make an effort to be cold towards him. She knew he wasn't nefariously demonic, but that didn't exempt him from having a fraction of her frustration taken out on him. As she gave him a once-over, his mismatched, wrinkled appearance was almost more than she could take.

Pretending to access her memories, she turned to him finally. "Maybe…" she trailed, making it look as though she still wasn't convinced she knew him. "Hey, correct me if I'm mistaken, but isn't Dumbledore supposed to be Headmaster? I've heard from reliable and many sources that by this time he's come into the position. Thus I don't believe you'd have a title, _Armando_."

Dippet scratched his stubbly chin, but his pupils were dilating and contracting at so off intervals that Hermione almost felt nauseas. She could tell, however, that her words were starting to annoy him, much to her pleasure. "I say, child," he began, trying to keep his voice calm. "You sure know how to press a man's buttons!"

She rolled her eyes at him, completely blowing off his crude attempt at humor. "So what happened?" she asked, faking true curiosity. "_Surely _you can't still be in charge here?"

"First of all, young lady, you ought to know better than to speak to your superiors that way!" he blubbered, chest puffing out in indignation

"Here we go again," Hermione mumbled, remembering all to well her first meeting with him. She looked into his beetle-like eyes again. "Now would you just answer the damn question, Dippet?"

"Oh…yes…all right, then…no need to be pushy…" He replied pompously, as if the last thing he wanted was to publicly assure that he was no longer leader of Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, his eyes shifty. "You see, Dumbledore and I have a very complex understanding of each other. He assists me in certain things and I delegate behavioral reprimands in addition to planning school functions. However, recent turns of events have caused, well, shall we say, uprisings, from certain persons and I have been suggested to resign. Now, you see, this was clearly not an ideal option for me! Unfortunately, due to some confidential reasons, I have been pressured to do so and have finally valiantly conceded. I am merely at a—_medium_—with Dumbledore. A transferring of imperial power, in other words. But I'll have you know I was a _more _than capable Headmaster!" he added as an afterthought.

Hermione snorted rather audibly, not bothering to keep her obvious distaste of him quiet. "Yeah. There's no doubt in my mind that's true," she said sarcastically. "But, unfortunately for you, Armando, it looks as if that position will be occupied by Professor Dumbledore for much longer than you had ever hoped to imagine it to be. That being said, I think it's safe to say you were simply fired, and that's the end of it."

He spluttered, which she took as a yes, and she merely patted him unemotionally on the head before continuing her walk up to the Tower, pleased at hearing the still sputtering sounds of the former Headmaster behind her.

Regrettably, right as she was about ready to give the password to the Fat Lady—who was rather unhappy to be awakened—she was again interrupted. "Can I not just get into the damn Tower without being interrupted? Is that too much to ask?" she commanded loudly, wishing she could just Vanish the person that had stopped her.

She heard a familiar chuckle, and, blushing slightly, turned around to see a taller, more cheery looking Dumbledore. It was a relief to actually look up to talk to someone rather than down. He still stood as imperiously without meaning to be as ever, with that ever present all-knowing gleam in his blue eyes.

Giving her a content smile, it reassured her she wasn't in all that much trouble at her outburst. "Well, let's just say my hearing's not as good as it used to be; as a result of which, we have merely exchanged friendly greetings?"

Hermione herself half-smiled at his remarks, and she was so glad to at least have one familiar face back. "Yeah…sorry about that, Professor," Hermione murmured, getting a shiver of embarrassment herself. "Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Much, much better improvement than Mr.-I-am-too-conceited-to-realize-I-am-extremely-incompetent Dippet, anyway."

Dumbledore nodded amiably, his bespectacled eyes twinkling. "Ah, yes…well, Armando does take some getting used to," Dumbledore agreed. "Oh, I've almost forgot—but as you are desiring imminent rest, I will make this quick. We are having a feast in the honor of the Head Boy and Girl, as due to problematic conditions on the start of term, there was no time to do so. I daresay the students were right frustrated with me for not having a proper Sorting feast; ass it is, however, I would be of utmost delight if you would do us the honor of joining us. Of course, I understand any and all of your misgivings, but really, as I have some trustworthy means that have informed me you have met Mr. Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew, you might as well get to know them slightly better, though under more broad circumstances. I understand if you feel yourself unable to be present, but I assure you, it would be a great honor to all of us."

Hermione, becoming, as he had predicted, uneasy at the idea of re-meeting the whole school again, had, against her will of course, started to get almost excited at the prospect. An odd emotion it was true, but she couldn't help but imagine it. "Yes," she said with susurration, but then, as she thought more on it, her voice heightened. "I suppose I could do so. As long as I don't have to make a speech or anything."

Dumbledore looked at her analytically in the way only he could. A serene grin of his directed itself to her, and he pressed his fingers together. "Excellent," he said levelly. "The feast will be taking place tomorrow morning at breakfast—we didn't want to delay it too much; your acquaintances will surely lead you in the right direction. And don't worry about any disquisition on your part, Miss Granger. You needn't address anyone should you decide not to."

She nodded feebly, as he departed, seeming to disappear without a trace. Small butterflies had decided to flit around in the region of her abdomen, a feeling she hadn't had for a long time. Hermione Granger did not usually get nervous. Yet here she was, doing that very thing. She reasoned she had a great rationale for doing so, but still she couldn't help but reprimand herself. So what if she was going to be silently introduced to the entire school? All they were were a myriad of unidentifiable faces; a mere gnat in comparison to the rest of the things she had to deal with. As Dumbledore had said, she had nothing to worry about.

Determined to cease her nervousness, she turned to the Fat Lady who had been watching she and Dumbledore's whole conversation with amused but tired interest. "Finally ready to give me the password?" she said irritatingly.

Hermione stared at her. "Yeah. Flibbertigibbet."

"Of course," the Fat Lady replied, revealing the familiar stone archway leading to the Common Room.

Hermione had vaguely wondered if it was Dumbledore who told the old woman not to question how or why Hermione had gotten both the password and how she had arrived there, or if the Fat Lady simply sensed she was of no threat and had a logical cause of being there. At the very least, she didn't look like she was some sort of manic mass murderer—Hermione was reminded of third year when the same Fat Lady had been chased out of her portrait by Sirius Black, who, at the time, was at large. That, certainly, was one circumstance that had changed greatly. Either way, she was grateful that she didn't have to explain something else, least of all to a painting. Entering silently, she promptly settled herself on the couch, and in no time her eyes closed, her body finally resting easy in the heat of the House Elf-lit fire.

* * *

"Who do you think she is?"

"You mean how in the hell did she get in?"

"Think we should tell Dumbledore?"

"What about Dippet?"

"Psh, that old goon? No way."

"Well, what are we supposed to do then?"

"Shh, I think she's waking up!"

Hermione was indeed awakening, but not of her own accord. It was instead because of the sultry sounds of two girls discussing, well, her. She opened her eyes, not raising her wand in the observation she didn't think she was under immediate threat, also not showing the signs of immense exhaustion, which she had been feeling quite heavily. When they came into focus, Hermione looked up into one face she recognized very well, and one she had never seen before. One, of course, was Lily, whom she had seen last night—though Lily, she didn't think, had seen her—and another girl she was sure she'd find out the name of soon.

"Who are you?" Hermione said accusingly at the brunette beside Lily.

"Excuse me?" she responded, obviously put out. Her voice was high-pitched, and it hurt Hermione's ears, much to Hermione's dissatisfaction. The last thing she needed was another headache. Especially not one to add on to the feeling that she had a massive hangover.

"I asked who you were," she requested harshly again, ignoring Lily's presence for the moment, who looked like she wasn't sure whom to support. "Well, are you going to answer or just stand there like you're lacking proper brain functionality?"

"Don't mind her," Lily intervened hastily. Both Hermione and the brunette stared at her, Hermione imagining the brunette was less grateful than Hermione. Gesturing to the girl beside her, Lily elaborated. "This is Harriet McLaggen, and I'm Lily Evans, Head Girl. We're _both _pleased to meet you."

"Figures," Hermione muttered about Harriet's last name. Now that Hermione looked closer, she bore a strong resemblance to the self-centered and arrogant sixth year whom she foolishly let escort her to Slughorn's party. Though, now she thought on it, she had only done that to get Ron more jealous. What a load of good that did now. "But I am glad to meet you, Lily."

Lily smiled graciously, considering her assured surprise of seeing a strange girl in her common room. "You wouldn't happen to have a name, would you?" she asked.

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. _Oh, what's the use, _she thought to herself, _they've already seen me._ "Hermione Granger."

Lily appeared to be suppressing a frown, but graciously decided to not act on it. "Pretty name," Lily settled, and Hermione gave a faint smile. "Well, we were just going on down to the feast. We're not supposed to be late, even though it is only breakfast. Beside that, Sirius and Potter would not let me live it down if I wasn't on time."

Hermione stared at her, literally having to bite her tongue to prevent her from bringing up the event from last night, which, as she looked at Lily, seemed to have brightened up her visage. "Wait…" Hermione said as Lily and Harriet started to turn away from her. "You're not going to ask why I'm here?"

Needless to say, Hermione didn't _want _anyone to ask her that, but she was wondering nonetheless. "No, not yet," Lily said slowly. "I mean, I obviously have never seen or heard of you before, but Dumbledore for sure has; that man knows everything. And if he hasn't raided the castle in fury of you being here, then who am I to question his decisions? In addition, you don't look all that detrimental to our very existence, so it's all fine. Were you going to come with us?"

Harriet snorted, and Hermione's eyes turned from slightly warmer to icy again as she looked at McLaggen. "You know what, _Harriet_," Hermione sneered. "If I were you I wouldn't act like such a stuck up bitch and scamper off before I can do permanent damage with my besmirching of Gryffindor house."

Harriet's face contorted and her mouth dropped open in offense, but all she did was storm out. Hermione gladly noticed that Lily was trying desperately to hold off laughing. "Harriet's really not that bad," Lily tried. "You just have to get to know her. Well, we really should be going…are you sure you're okay?"

Hermione was taken aback, at both Lily's intense kindness and her question. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Of course I'm okay."

Lily's face showed noticeable skepticism, as if she could read right through Hermione's, granted, probably obvious, lie. "Okay. You just looked really miserable and exhausted is all," Lily commiserated. "Just know if you ever need to talk, I'm right upstairs. Speaking of which, have you talked to Dumbledore about sleeping arrangements? While the couch is comfortable, I sincerely doubt it's all that spectacular."

Hermione smiled. "Good point," she concurred. "I have spoken to Dumbledore, actually, and he just had to do some tweaking, which, hopefully, is soon done. Thank you though, Lily. For your kindness and not asking questions. It's more nicety than I've had in a very long time."

Lily simply grinned, giving Hermione a help up from the couch and leading her out of the portrait hole, where Hermione tried to hold up her confidence in not being too frantic about the upcoming possible fiasco.

* * *

"Why, if it isn't Evans and Granger! You two know each other?" an all-too familiar and voice announced from the Gryffindor table at the newest arrivals.

Hermione flinched at his loudness, for she had wanted to make a very quiet entrance. She settled for shooting Sirius a glare, and Dumbledore a helpless glance to which he just raised his glass to her. Lily, sensing her anxiety, simply gave her a reassuring smile, giving Sirius, and undoubtedly James as well, a glare of her own. For the latter, however, Hermione noticed that familiar blush in her cheeks, and she had a very strong idea that James was thinking along the exact same lines. Hermione almost shook her head at the adorableness of it all.

"Black, I really do not want to take points away from my own house, but if you keep your annoyance and immaturity up, I just might have to," Lily retorted.

Sirius merely took a deep gulp of his drink, spilling about half of it down his shirt in the process, leaving Lily and Hermione to stifle laughs. "Damn it," he cursed to himself. "_Scourgify._"

Lily rolled her eyes at the successfulness of the spell, but Hermione couldn't help noticing her gaze shift over to James for a split second. "Scoot over, will you, Peter?" she asked nicely, yet Hermione thought she heard a hint of edge in her voice.

Peter, giving a fearful sideways glance at Hermione, shifted over, allowing the two girls to sit down, and Hermione shook off the curious stares from the whole school by concentrating both on her food and the five people she had come into contact with. "Say, Granger, what do you say we—" Sirius started, but Dumbledore's miraculously booming voice interrupted him, and even loud-mouthed Sirius wouldn't dare interrupt.

"Welcome, friends, to another year at Hogwarts. I do understand and apologize about the fact that we have broken tradition by not having a proper start of term feast, but I only hope that this, while probably shorter than normal, will somewhat make up for it. Nevertheless, I must impose upon all of you to drink and eat to your heart's content, for we mustn't waste this marvelous food, and I have no problem in assuming you are all rather famished. As you all know, we have already held the Sorting—a great welcome and congratulations to all of our new students. We all wish you the best of luck. Before, unfortunately, all of you can satisfy your appetites, I must make four very important announcements, if you will please give me a few minutes of your time. Firstly, our wonderful caretaker, Mr. Filch, would like to tirelessly remind all of you that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, as it has been for as long as I can deduce. Secondly, any and all devices, magical or Muggle, found that are on the list nailed to our caretaker's office will be immediately confiscated. Next, I would like to kindly introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—as I'm sure you know we all need!—Professor Agatha Circe. Good luck to you, Professor! But lastly, and possibly most importantly, as some of you might have already noticed, we have a delightful young woman in our midst, whom you, no doubt, will meet at one occasion or another. However curious you may be, all of you, I must insist most sincerely not to go pursuing your ponderings unless she chooses to let you know. This persuasion will be in effect immediately, and I urge each and every one of you not to disobey it. With that being announced, I invite all of you to now indulge yourselves in our lovely feast. Enjoy!"

Hermione just about wished he hadn't made an announcement on her behalf, as now the whole school—with possible exception of James, Sirius, and Lily, who were all more interested in the appearing food—all four Houses, in addition to the teachers, were now staring at her. Even she, who was more than used to glares, stares, and whatever else in between, felt her face grow hot as she tried to concentrate on anything but the inconsiderate brats. Even Peter and Harriet, who had already met Hermione, however briefly, were focused onto her, Hermione avidly wishing they would remove their prying eyes away from her.

After a few minutes of this, only a few forks having been touched—Dumbledore seemed oblivious to this, much to Hermione's distaste—James caught a glance at Hermione, quickly turning that to Sirius, Remus, and Lily, who all looked as though they had the same thought he did.

"Hey," James whispered to Hermione, who looked up, the crimson slowly starting to drain out of her complexion. "What do you say we get out of here? Padfoot and I can always nick food from the kitchens; it's not that hard. You up for it?"

She gazed at him in amazement. "That would be so great of you," Hermione said in sincerity. "Thank you."

As Remus, Hermione, and James started to get up, Lily took a quick glance to Harriet and a few other people at the table, who were hardly concentrated on their food, and spoke up. "Oh, I can't handle this, either," she said, and Hermione, not knowing whether Lily just wanted to be nice to Hermione or was truthful, was happy for it anyway.

Sirius had extricated himself from the table as well—not without a longing look at the mouthwatering food that had appeared, however—but stopped and looked at Peter. "You coming?" At Peter's terrified look, Sirius merely shrugged, then saw the absence of his three, possibly four, friends, who were already a few steps ahead of him. "OI! Wait up, will you?"

* * *

I know this seems like almost a James/Lily story so far, but it's only the sixth chapter, right? ) Anyway, I hope this was okay, and that you guys won't stop giving me inspiration and compliments, because I really do enjoy them. Infinite thanks to:

Sivaroobini Lupin-Black, Yurilune, Viktor Krum's lazyllama101, Pocket Dog, SwayPippin, and Angelic Bladez.


	7. Secrets

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Seven: Secrets_

* * *

When she pushed open the huge but not particularly hindering, ornately designed and carved mahogany doors, she stopped right in her tracks, the door only millimeters from smacking her back in the face. What she thought would have been her same Library was, in fact, _not_. Sure, everything was there, but it most certainly wasn't in the same order she was used to. She was used to the Restricted Section being in the far back and to the left, the Elves section to her middle right, the Magical Creatures section to her closest right, and everything else where it's _supposed _to be. She imagined her mouth was gaping open, and even the welcoming, bright orange-yellow light streaming through the great glass windows couldn't stem her shock. She didn't even hear the very solid wood doors slam shut behind her, rattling the ancient windows.

Many a studious person stared up at her, the lovely sound of quills scratching ceasing, the only sound being that of Madam Pince's ("Has she _always _been here?" Hermione thought) long, purple fingernails tapping on the office desk, glaring daggers at her through her pointed, edgy spectacles. Hermione shook her head in an effort to clear it. She started walking aimlessly down the central aisle, passing the people still staring at her. Once she got to about the Restricted Section, where she was going to turn right, she was stopped by a steady hand. She blinked out of her trance, and looked up at the intruder.

"Need an escape already?" The light, cheery voice came to her.

She looked up into the kind face of Remus Lupin, whose light blue eyes were twinkling, just as they did years ago. He had a mysterious smile on his face, and, much as it was weird long ago, she could see him just as the Marauder he was rumored to be, even though she still thought of him as the responsible one. However, though his face was rather mischievous and so much younger than _her _Lupin, it, for all intents and purposes, looked the same. Still, she had to be on her guard, no matter how much she wished she could trust him.

"No, as a matter of fact, I do not, Lupin," she snapped, more roughly than she probably should have. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I can see that," he laughed, and she knew he was right. She, at that moment, wasn't exactly the most covert person at making herself known she wanted to just disappear.

"Stop mocking me," she retorted. "Aren't you supposed to be the _level-_headed and _not _conceited one?" she fired back at her future teacher.

"Depends on who you ask, of course. But that's my reputation," he said. "To be the uptight, know-all bookworm. Oh yeah; and the one who never does anything wrong," He said, his voice funnily enough not even laced with self-pity or annoyance. She could hear the hint of regret, as if he didn't really like being labeled as such.

"Being a bookworm isn't all that bad," Hermione said in an almost inaudible whisper, thinking desperately of the times when Ron and Harry would ask for her help…the happy times…the times not touched by the most Satanic and horrible of evils.

Remus looked at her both strangely and with acknowledgement. He understood. Though he was studious by nature, sometimes the taunting got tiring. "No…but sometimes some things just can't be helped, right?"

This time it was Hermione who lifted her head to look in his earnest, uniquely colored gray and silver eyes with respect. He definitely was wise beyond his years. And she didn't think it had anything to do with the werewolf in him. "No, I suppose they can't," she said mournfully. She got an uncomfortable but daring look on her face. "So, uh, do you mind if I join you?" The words pained her immensely, as she rather wanted to be alone at her table in her sanctuary, but she sensed he hadn't had a true, honest-to-goodness accompaniment with him for a long time. And, truthfully, she'd rather him accompany her than be _completely _lonely, let alone teased.

He half-smiled, a fraction of his teeth showing. His incisors looked vaguely pointed…it must have been close to the full moon. "Well, I was thinking of leaving, but I'd rather enjoy the company," he said after thinking about it for a second. "James and Sirius aren't exactly the quietest of people. And Peter…well…all he wants is to copy my work."

Hermione appreciated it completely. Ron and Harry greatly resembled Sirius and James, respectively, and Neville's incessant following of her to look off of her parchments reminded her of Peter…save the betraying and evil. Neville had truly been the greatest transformation; he had lasted longer than anyone had expected, and fought off and killed a great many Death Eaters…she missed him more than she would have thought. Trying, and failing to ward off that thought, she followed Remus to his table, which she recognized as her own. She felt an odd warmth, an aura maybe, that enveloped her like an old friend. Her own presence. It was an odd solution, she knew, as she wasn't to be born for more years from now, but she knew almost anything was possible if you were a witch or wizard. This was definitely one of those times.

Once she sat down and took in the familiar surroundings, she couldn't help but glance at the title of what homework Remus had.

_Werewolves and Their Human Counterparts in Society Today _

_While the presence and even name of werewolves normally incites fear into society, they are not to be cause of phobias and nightmares. Unless willing to embrace themselves in the complete transformation to the werewolf, a werewolf's human form is very normal and usually cannot even be discerned as anything but a human in regular environments. Most people have only seen diagrams, pictures, and read horror stories depicting werewolves as terrifying creatures of the night, their only goal being to devour children and wreak chaos on unsuspecting victims and villages. The true nature of an unfortunate werewolf survivor is that of an ironically very kind demeanor, one of the only visible changes being that of a desiring of more rare-cooked meat and fear of the lunar apparatuses. The werewolf truly does not deserve the horrible reputation it is given by continuous falsehoods of the media, and should not be stereotyped as such._

Hermione felt both a sadness and a reverence for the tortured soul in front of her, the victim of a terrifying ordeal that a person like him didn't need. "You have a suspicious interest in my paper and thesis," Remus stated more than asked as he stared at her, trying, she guessed, to figure her out. She looked down in embarrassment.

She felt a need to explain herself. "I'm sorry. I just…" she looked up at him. In an audacious tone and endeavor, she responded, much to her contradictory conscience's dismay. "I—I know who you are, Prof—Remus."

His silver eyes widened, but strikingly remained concealing. "What do you know?" he asked, though she could see he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Hermione took a deep breath, choosing to let the werewolf thing lay for now…now was not the time for that can of worms to be opened. For the matter at hand, she was having rather heated debates within herself. Should she reveal her secret? That she's from the future? Would he even believe her? He wasn't Dumbledore, and he probably didn't have the same blind devotion to thinking the best of someone. He most likely had the same suspicions as she did of everyone. And yet…it wasn't like it could mess up the future anymore, could it? Short from the world being annihilated, it couldn't get worse, right? Maybe Lupin could help…? It was worth a try…wasn't it?

Before she could argue it any further, she clenched her fists and spat it out. "I'm from the future," She said bluntly. There was no use breaking it to him gently.

He simply stared at her, his intense gaze boring into her, as if figuring out if she was lying, the expression oddly resembling Dumbledore's. He didn't give her any of her expected reactions; no shocked look, no gaping mouth, no backing away in fear or disbelief. He simply started nodding slowly a few times, like he was absorbing the information, his feet planted firmly on the floor, mouth closed, his eyes steady. She found she couldn't break his gaze either, perhaps in trying to convince him, as if breaking contact would prove her story unreliable.

"Well, that's definitely something I haven't had the chance to hear before," He said finally, and she realized the words were almost the same as Dumbledore's himself.

Her forehead creased at the easiness of his acceptance. Was he trying to trick her? Was he being serious? "You—you believe me?" she asked carefully, fully paying attention to his behavior in case it was less than truthful.

He seemed to consider it for another second before answering. "Well, it wouldn't have been the first explanation I'd've come up with by any stretch of the imagination, but I suppose it works. It's definitely a strange one and hard to believe, but your actions and explanations—or lack thereof, rather—could support it. I'm not necessarily saying I'm believing that _all _your actions are justified, but if you really are from the future, then I'm quite interested in it. I guess what I'm saying is that if you need a potential ally, I think I could be yours."

She smiled genuinely, for the first time in…well, since Harry and Ron. He believed her. He _believed _her. Screw her previous hesitations…this man was Remus Lupin through and through. She had the sudden urge to throw her arms around him and whimper that she missed him so, so much and wished he could just come back and tell her reassuring words of advice like he had so many times, but she restrained. If he really was on the path to fully having faith in her claim, she couldn't just be that way, weirding him out like that. Not exactly the best tactic.

"Thank goodness," she settled on, her voice quiet, for fear of not only Madam Pince's sharp glares, but because she didn't want this advertised to the already questioning school. "I was afraid Dumbledore would be the only one. I haven't told anyone else, but…I was going crazy, seeing everyone like this, them not knowing who I am or what I've done, I just…thank you…"

He gave a small smile, one that was almost tentative, but warm despite it all. "Hey, don't thank me yet," he said, and it wasn't so much a warning but a friendly intuition. She gave him an inquisitive glance, and he clarified. "I just mean that just because you have someone else on your side—Dumbledore was a good choice as first, by the way—doesn't mean you'll be alright. From the looks of it, you've been through a lot, but that has no bearing on your soon to be life here. You've still got a road of hell coming up. Or, rather, a continuing one, just in a different timeline."

"Yeah, I know," she said with a sigh. That had already been assessed, depressing, and examined in Hermione's mind. "So, if you've figured that out, does that mean that—"

"James, Sirius, and Peter?" Remus said, pulling the words right out of her mouth. "Yeah, because they'd _really _believe me."

"But aren't they—"

"Yeah, they're far-fetched and filled with insanity in general, but even that is a little beyond them. Maybe if you explained it calmly and with great description or elucidation and examples to them, they'd sort of understand, but I don't know if I'd suggest it. At least not at first. And Peter…well…his mind would explode at that information."

Hermione nodded, literally biting her tongue at the mention of Peter. While he was one of the driving forces of the War, and he was pretty much the only one in this time that really was on Voldemort's right-hand side, she couldn't curse the entire room every time his name was mentioned, no matter how much she wanted to. Not only would that decimate a good many peoples' timelines, but it would be rash and unnecessary in the long run.

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," Hermione agreed after a moment. "But do you think I should tell them eventually?"

Lupin took a second to answer, running his hand absently through his hair. "I don't know," he said undeterminably. "Maybe sometime. But I'd suggest that you figure it out before adding anyone else into your story. In my opinion, even telling me was a bit much."

Hermione downcast her eyes. _Was _telling him a mistake? Did she just mess things up more than they were supposed to be? How much did she alter by doing that? What did she do? "Did I just—"

By her silence or by her facial expression, Lupin once again caught onto her thought train. "I don't regret that you told me, though," he said, grinning a little. "I'd like to think I'd have figured it out at some point, but I'm glad you did let me in on your rather substantial secret. Not that I'm necessarily a great asset, but it means something that you'd choose to tell me."

"Oh you don't mean that. You know, you'll make a great—" she began, smiling, before he interrupted her harshly.

"No!" he said suddenly, with conviction. She started at his oppression. "Look, much as I want to know everything about your time and my future and everyone's futures, I can't. We both know I can't. Not yet anyway. Really."

Hermione's eyes returned to the dark azure carpet. He was right. She knew he was right. If he hadn't stopped her…the effects could have been horrid. "Yeah, you're probably correct. Sorry about that. But…thank you, Lupin. For everything. You have no idea how good it feels to have someone else to know it. Dumbledore's been fantastic, but to have someone not be so all-knowing and sagaciously advising continuously is good."

Lupin nodded in response, before switching his weight from one side to the other, debating his next query. "So…what made you come to the past?" he inquired, curiosity beaming in his quicksilver eyes.

Hermione should have anticipated this question, but she must have been caught up in the surprise of his believing her that she didn't have time to. It wasn't something she wanted really to recall again, that much was for sure. "I—my home—it's—my family is—"

Tears sprang to her eyes but didn't fall, as if an invisible hand was constraining them, clasping its hand closed upon them, like this was the Final Battle, where tears couldn't fall. Just thinking of her 'home' brought painful memories that she didn't care to visit. She took a deep, shuddering breath. She needed to explain this. Even if it hurt every pore in her body to do so. Lupin looked slightly guilty as his question had prompted her reaction, even though he was still incessantly curious and filled to the brim with inquiries and fascinations with what to ask her and what to learn.

"Hermione, I didn't mean to upset you," he consoled, considering patting her on the shoulder or the like, but deciding against it. "You, uh, you don't have to answer it if you can't…"

"No," Hermione said, her voice slightly strangled. "I have to." She took another breath, though it almost felt like there wasn't enough air to breathe, her chest constricting and twanging as if in below-freezing weather, but she knew it had absolutely nothing to do with atmospheric conditions. She looked at him in determination. "It's all gone. My home, my family, my friends. My world is destroyed. _He _destroyed it, and I was all alone. Not even D-Dumbledore could help. The tangible shell of the Earth is—was—there, but the devastation of Voldemort's final reign reached into every niche and crevice of it, leaving only death, darkness, and destruction wherever his evil strayed. As for time travel…I didn't meant to travel back. Much as I wished subconsciously I could go back, just change one event to change it all, I hadn't meant to literally go back in time. But there I was, battling him, and I just…it was an accident. And look where it landed me! Why it chose this time of all, I have no idea. And that's just one of the things I have to answer while here. And all this…while fighting tremors and nightmares of my life, I have to survive in this time and figure it all out by myself. I don't know how, Lupin, I don't know how. Even with you and Dumbledore, I just…I don't know."

Her eyes welled up again, his image switching into two with the salty liquid, but she could still see his commiseration and sadness and horror all in one through the misty water, and she knew Lupin had an idea of the terrors she had faced. "Voldemort?" he asked shakily, and though Voldemort hadn't really seeped into that time's lives yet, Remus would have been one of the few who would have heard about him. "He—He comes to power? But…he can't. That's impossible. There is no _way _that could happen. I mean, he feared Dumbledore; he _fears _Dumbledore. The only way Voldemort could actually rule would be if Dumbledore d—wait. You're not telling me Dumbledore…he's not actually…" Remus trailed, shaking his head at the gruesome conclusion. Hermione couldn't lie and tell him different, as much as she wanted to. "Shit…"

He was too distracted by her statement that he didn't rectify his language. She was semi-surprised at it, coming from him, but nothing really truly shocked her at this point. She was well beyond that. "I know," she said, and she willed with all her might for the tears not to fall, which were now suspended dangerously on her bottom eyelashes. "Dumbledore's probably come to that as well, but I can't expand on it any further. Not only is it too painful for me, but anything more will…well, you understand. I wish so hard that Dumbledore hadn't died. If he hadn't…maybe all this wouldn't have happened. Maybe it would, I don't know, but at least if Dumbledore had lived, it would have been bearable. Oh, now look what I've done," she said, her voice originally apologetically saddened, and then she put her hands over her face. "I've made you have to live with this your entire life. And you can't even tell anyone about it. Oh, Christ, Lupin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this to you. I didn't mean to…"

This time he actually did put his hand on her shoulder, its warm touch comforting to her, reminding her of all the times she had to go to him for help; help that constituted him giving her yet another speech of encouragement, telling her she could do it. He would do this selflessly for her, even though he had so much more on his plate than he needed to, between dealing with his feelings for Tonks and their situation, the War, the Order, Sirius's death—Hermione tried not to shed tears for him now as well…she missed him so much, too—Voldemort, and everything else. And now, his same touch again—she just welcomed it.

"You don't have to be sorry, Hermione," he said comfortingly. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have just come up to you like that and bombarding you with the implication that you needed to tell me your huge secret. So for that, now knowing the savagery you've been through and the destruction you've seen, I'm sorry for—"

"Don't." Hermione said abruptly, cutting him off with threatening tenacity. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me. Don't you dare."

"I wasn't," he replied, seemingly taken aback for a moment. Hermione frowned. As if he could fool her? Of course he was! So often that's the only thing people would say to her. That they were sorry. They pitied her. Blah blah blah. She hated it. They had no idea what she was going through, and she hated that they tried with false words. And now he was doing it? Had she overestimated him? "I was just going to say I'm sorry that you felt you couldn't tell anyone or that you were all alone once again. I wasn't pitying you; believe me when I say that. Trust me, I've had my fair share of people faking sorrow. They find out my brother was killed in a car accident or that I'm a werewolf and they automatically think that I am filled with pain and depression and need their help. Believe what I say when I tell you I understand and am not faking anything. I've come already to accept my condition and my life, and I don't need their fake empathy. So this is not what I'm doing to you. I'm not like that."

Hermione felt shameful. She had bitten at him before she even knew what he was going to say. Her subconscious told her she had a right to be bitter after all she'd been through, and she had the prerogative to be distrustful, but another part of her brain told her that there was no excuse for being like that to him of all people, when he was just trying to be helpful and a good friend. Which he was. The truth of the matter was that a lot of people weren't deserving of meanness. And if anyone was the epitome of this, that person was Remus Lupin.

"Well, I apologize," Hermione said stiffly, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. She wasn't one to readily apologize, as her parents kept reminding her, even if it was quite in line. "I prejudged you."

Lupin grinned, obviously having forgotten it already. "Prejudged?" he said with a mischievous timbre. "I thought you knew me already?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though his humor was welcomed. Way past welcomed. "Not this you, I don't," she replied.

Lupin nodded, understanding this statement. Smiling again, he led her to a chair at the table next to them, awaiting any explanations she was willing to give. "So…what _can _you tell me about the future?"

* * *

"Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. Lily kissed you? Lily Evans. She _kissed _you?" Sirius asked in shock after what James had just informed.

"Yes, I've already told you that! Come on, you don't believe me?" James asked, faking hurt. He was too ecstatic still to have any emotion but happiness.

"Prongs, you know I can't not believe you, seeing as how we've been friends since first year, but really. You've got to give me a break here. Forgive me if it doesn't seem to follow suit," Sirius said, clapping a hand upon James's shoulder with impressive force, as only a friend could do. "I mean, aren't you sort of the last person Lily would be willing to kiss? No offense."

"None taken, and that's what I thought. I was afraid that when I went to kiss her, she'd slap me or do something of the sort, but she didn't. It was weird, but I wasn't one to complain."

Sirius exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as his hand went to his forehead in disbelief. "So has she talked to you yet about it?" Sirius inquired after a minute. He scrutinized his unusually excited friend. This was new.

James sighed. "No. She hasn't even spared me a glance."

Sirius laughed, voice youthful and so unlike his future counterpart. "Oh, Prongs, you are just too much. Why don't you go talk to her? It's not like you've had a problem with it before," Sirius suggested. "I mean, I'd propose you be more strategic about it than you usually are, but something is better than nothing."

James looked horrified at this prospect, a prospect of which Sirius was surprised James was apprehensive about. "Because! People would assume I was joking, and then she'd look all embarrassed because it's true that it happened, and think of what gossip material that would give the student population!" he exclaimed with perhaps more fervor than was necessary.

Sirius faked a faint into one of the chairs by the fireplace, his hand mockingly over his heart. "Prongs, I cannot believe you. Has someone possessed your body? Do we need an exorcism over here? _Do we_?" Sirius asked exuberantly, and with extreme sarcasm, attributed specifically to him. Yet, he wasn't done. "I've never seen this side of you before, Potter. Maybe you need to go to Madam Pomfrey. I really do think you're under a spell. Not just because it's kind of unlikely that Lily did kiss you, but because you actually suggested that you're unable to make a fool of yourself over a girl. Since when have you been afraid of _that?"_

James glared at him. "Sirius, I'm not possessed," James said exasperatedly, sobering up a little. "I just think it might be for real this time. Don't _look _at me that way!"

Sirius was giving him an expressive dubious look and shook his head, putting his hand on James's shoulder again. "Look. Jamesey boy. You know you're my best friend, but really, think about it. You have to your overly large head out of the clouds. I know you like Lily, but you've got to be real. Have you even gone over the unlikelihood of your statement? Every other time you've gotten like this you've shrug it off, coming up with another prank to pull on someone! Snap out of it," Sirius warned, being serious for a rare occasion. "Plus, you know Moony would throw a fit if you hadn't started on your homework. Maybe you can rethink it over while you bullshit your way through the Sleeping Draught Potions essay."

James nodded extremely slowly, apparently taking in Sirius's words, though Sirius somberly thought he wasn't accepting his advice. "I'm not lying, Padfoot, you'll see," James said with undulated severity. "And you know me with Potions…what the hell am I supposed to right on the development of that potion and its effects? It's like a damn History of Magic essay…I didn't need a stupid Sleeping Draught to make me fall asleep in Potions…"

Sirius sighed, leaving James alone and going over to the fire and his armchair to uncharacteristically start on his own homework, if anything than to not waste time trying to talk sense into his seemingly love struck friend. "Oh, Prongs, what will we do with you?" he grumbled to himself, sticking his quill in his black inkbottle, the heat of the fire flickering on his face.

* * *

"Can't you tell me _something_? Please?"

"Lupin, you know as well as I that I can't. It would screw up the future. Besides, weren't you the one that told me I couldn't?"

"Well…yeah, but that was before you kept changing what you were going to call me midway through your sentence! You were going to say 'Professor', weren't you? I'm a teacher? What do I teach?"

Hermione sighed, amused that Lupin, she knew, fully comprehended the dangers and effects of telling information to people that they shouldn't know, but he was wanting to know his own future. She knew this was just halfway a pretense, as he probably would intercept a hint anyway, but she couldn't help and find it fairly humorous nonetheless. Humor…something she hadn't been sure she could feel again. Today, with Lupin, was certainly a day of surprises.

"I can't tell you anything because it might affect your decisions on certain matters, which need to come true," she said, with hyperbolic exasperation. "Come on, Lupin, you know I really can't tell you anything."

"Hermione," he started, his voice less excited than before. "I already know that when you say 'Profess—' it's not exactly standing for something else, so I know that I become an instructor later in life. What's the harm in telling me what I teach? Plus, and this doesn't just have to do with academics, but wouldn't changing the future and its events be beneficial? I mean, not telling me the entire world's future, but certain things. Things that could change _your _future. For the better."

Remus did have a good and recklessly appealing point, but Hermione had considered that aspect, also. "That's what many people think, ironically. And it would definitely seem that way. But the thing is, is that changing the events that would lead up to the future could quite possibly start a dangerous error in the timeline, a ripple if you will. You see, every event in every nanosecond of time affects another event, which affects another, and so on. So if you change destiny, the place destiny was cheated creates a possibly deadly tool that if used in the wrong hands could lead up to the destruction of the world," she said, speaking fluidly and without the emotion she thought would have been necessary. And yet…she continued, not really knowing what she was doing. "So if Voldemort could find a way to use it—and, much as I hate to admit it, if anyone could, he could—who knows how much damage could happen? And if something occurs that wasn't supposed to, then Voldemort could release his wrath on _this_ world, _your _world, therefore wreaking destruction decades earlier. Which would cause problems even Sirius and James, I believe, would have issues with."

She let this information sink in. Remus's expression didn't change. "So…wouldn't your changing destiny create this ripple, too? Coming here? Considering, as you haven't mentioned it before that my future life hadn't told you that a Hermione came to visit us when I was two decades younger, you've not come here before? There's got to be a reason for that. And obviously, Voldemort, if at all, hasn't yet figured out how to use this theoretical ripple."

This was the question that she had failed to completely elaborate on. It had entered her mind a few times, but it never stayed long enough for her to linger on it. She had just thought that it was Fate's plan to have her change history. She hesitated. "Well…no, because, well, you see…" She couldn't come up with a reputable, plausible explanation.

"Look, I'm not trying to discourage you or anything, because I'm sure I'd try and find a way back as well, but I'm just trying to be rational," he said hastily, not wanting to get her upset, though now, Hermione being still enraptured with this Lupin, didn't think she was going to. "I know you want the world to right itself, you have your friends and family back, Voldemort to be no longer at power, and all the deaths reversed, but what if it's the Grand Design's plan to have you simply deal with it? How do you know that you are supposed to change what happened?"

Hermione couldn't believe the words coming out of Lupin's mouth. Had he been about twenty years older, she was sure he'd give her advice on how to get back. And here he was telling her all hope was lost? "Lupin, how can you even say that? I have to get back! I need to get back! How do you expect me to survive in this alien world? I'm not meant to be here, Lupin. I'm just not. This isn't my life. This is _your _life. Your life with Sirius, James, Lily, everyone else. My life? Is meant to be with Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, everyone _I_ know. I'm meant to be in 1997, not in the past like this. You really think Fate would make this happen? You really think Fate would slowly kill me like this?"

"No, Hermione, I don't," he replied calmly, heading off another Hermione hurricane. "I don't think Fate is trying to kill you. She is trying to give you a second chance! Don't you see?" she stared up at him through swimming eyes that had filled up at some time she couldn't tell. Here he was, giving her another speech. He really was so much a better person than people acknowledged. She sat patiently (a feat she had never been good at), listening to his deep voice consol her. "Your first chance in 1998 was ruined along with the world, and She's giving you the opportunity to make a life of yourself here! I know it's extremely hard to fathom this, but you've got to at least try. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense and it's a grave prospect, but, and you don't have to believe me on this, I think this might be what's supposed to happen. Maybe I'm wrong…maybe I just think it's exciting you're here, and maybe I'm just being stupid, but I just think it might be a possibility.

Was Lupin really saying this? _I think I'm dreaming. Soon I'm going to wake up and Lupin will help me figure this out…right? He may be one of the smartest and most genuine people around, but…really…stay here?_ She looked into his earnest, serious, silver eyes, and half-expected him to smile and shout out that he was kidding and he'll help her hit some books. He didn't. His eyes remained steady and studying hers, and they didn't falter. It was at this time that she realized with a harsh dropping of her heart that, perhaps, he was right. That there may have been a fraction of a percent of realism behind his suggestion. She wanted with all her being that this was not true, but she couldn't pay attention to only her hopes…she needed to pay attention to reality as well. Was she _not _supposed to be with Harry and Ron? The thought made her want to wrench her own heart out and _Avada _it right then and there. How could she _not _be meant to be with them?

"Lupin, I—it's just so hard to believe this," she started quietly, her voice barely a whisper, like if she said it with lower decibels, it would make it less true. "I mean, how am I supposed to live here? How am I supposed to survive without Harry and Ron and all my friends and, hell, even Malfoy, his non-evil version? Without Lavender and Parvati? If I changed the future, I could have them all back! Sure, James resembles Harry, but is his personality the same? No! Lupin, just tell me…_HOW? _Because I sure can't come up with a solution!"

His eyes shifted, to a point somewhere beyond her left shoulder, almost like he didn't want to be saying this; or else, he couldn't believe he was talking to someone who, logistically, shouldn't have even been conceived yet. "Hermione, I can't tell you how, or why this happened, or anything else concerning this, but I can tell you that you can deal with this," he replied finally. "I don't know any of the people you're talking about, save for perhaps Malfoy—or his relative anyway—but I do know that you will survive, or else you wouldn't be here, in this world or talking to me, right? I mean, we'll all help you, in one way or another, whether you tell everyone or not. I, Sirius, James, Peter—"

Hermione's eyes turned fiery. "That son-of-a-bitch traitor won't—"

"Okay, maybe not Peter if it'll prevent you from killing him," Remus said before she could rattle off another inappropriate four- or five-letter word.

Hermione pursed her lips, nearly not wanting him to cut her off. "Good. Because I can't promise that I wouldn't murder his sorry ass. You do know it's him who—"

Remus held up a quick hand, and Hermione, again, hoped he didn't put yet another piece of her life together from her small sentence. "You can't tell me anything. It could mess up what happens to us, right?" he said with a bitter smile. She could see he wanted to know the future just as much as she wanted to say it.

Her lips raised a fraction of an inch. "I guess," She said miserably, wishing she could just have her old professor back. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to try and save someone else's future. If I can't save my own, I can at least save my friend's, right?"

"Hermione, you can't," he said urgently, staring straight into her browned amber eyes. "Not even your friend's. Since it does affect your future, it could—"

It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. She put a hand on Remus's shoulder, feeling his good intentions rub off on her. "Thanks, Lupin, but this I really need to do. It's the only thing I can do for him, after all he's done to save the whole world. I'm gratified for your concern, but nothing you or anyone else, not even Dumbledore, can prevent me from doing this," she said.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but he sighed and nodded resignedly, somehow realizing she wouldn't give in, and Hermione was again struck with the feeling that he knew her personality as well as his future counterpart, even though that was virtually impossible. "Okay. I won't say anything," he replied steadily. "Now go on before I really do try and stop you."

Hermione smiled, and as she left, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You'll make a great teacher someday," She whispered.

His eyebrows rose at this information as he looked at her slowly retreating back. "I knew it!" he exclaimed happily. "So what am I? Transfiguration? Potion—wait; tell me I'm not a Potions teacher! Defense against the—" he was cut off from his questions to Hermione's almost laughing but still exiting form by a harsh hiss. "Sorry, Madam Pince. Just trying to figure out my future."

* * *

Hermione said the password to the Gryffindor dormitory after her rather illuminating conversation with Lupin, ignoring the both sympathetic and questioning looks from the Fat Lady, guardian of the entrance. She, as she had reiterated to Lupin, hated the sympathy looks, even from a portrait. Entering, she spotted Sirius looking over a piece of parchment, wondering if the writing was really his or not. She was suddenly overcome with a wanting to grab it from him, read it, and revise parts that needed editing, or at least to scold him in the matter that he'd better pay attention to authority or it just might land him in prison. He would laugh it off, but she would put her hands on her hips and berate him some more. She shook her head fairly violently to rid herself of the memories and wishes. Sirius was dead. Long dead, and there was no use dwelling on the past.

Sirius looked up at her at hearing the portrait open, his stormy, playful gray eyes dancing. "Did you need something?" he asked, voice still full of pleasant laughter.

"Have you seen James?" she asked, shrugging off his question, as well as his wondrously welcomed expression. For the truth was, she needed her world back, but it was nothing he could give.

"He's sulking over Evans," Sirius replied flatly, rolling his eyes again, turning back to his paper, apparently uninterested for that minute at Hermione's arrival. "Guy can't get enough of her."

_If only he knew how much that was true, _Hermione thought. "Okay, thank you," she said, walking past him and made to go up the boys' dormitories.

"Whoa whoa whoa, where the devil are you going?" Sirius said quickly, tripping over his chair in the process, muttering a rather expletive utterance at it, not only because of the inevitable bruise but because ink had spilled over his entire paper.

She stared at it, and the entire incident reminded her of a moment in sixth year. "The spell's _tergeo_," she said automatically, without realizing what had happened.

Sirius frowned, though the action by no means marred his attractive visage. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking from her to his paper, where she was staring, and which was now actively dripping ink onto the carpet, his paper being worse than sodden.

"To absorb the ink and _membrana reparo _to restore your parchment," she replied in the same monotonous tone.

His frown deepened, but he shrugged and turned to his work. With a quite unnecessary flourish and emphasis, he incanted, "_Tergeo," Much_ as Hermione had expected, the ink immediately flew up into Sirius's wand, disappearing into nothingness, leaving it still soaking the paper, but simply the stain and no dripping. Impressed, but still dismayed over his homework, he decided to try Hermione's other suggestion. _"Membrana reparo."_

The paper now returned to its previous, non-inked state, and Sirius looked up to Hermione with awe, gratitude, and still slight confusion. "There," she said, internally happy with herself in that regard even though it still hurt to be helping someone that way and have it not be Harry or Ron. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go see James."

"Wait," Sirius said, tone less urgent than before. "Thanks for the paper, but you still can't go up there! Those are the _boys' _dormitories."

"Yeah, I know," Hermione said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Okay, just calm down, Sirius. I just need to talk to him, alright? I'm not going in there to destroy your belongings or trespass. I just need to advise him on something."

"Advise Prongs? Ha. Now that's funny," Sirius replied, laughing.

"And why, pray tell, would that be funny?"

"Because Prongs needs all the advice he can get, but is he prone to listening to it? Not a chance," Sirius said, laughter not ceasing.

Hermione gave him a shrewd look before heading up the stairs anyway. "I think he'll listen to what I have to say," she said as departing words to a still confused but silent Sirius.

Once she got up there and opened the door, she saw James idly staring at the _Quidditch Through The Ages_ book. _Like father, like son_, Hermione thought. At the click of the door, James looked up, and then started, seeing her very female presence. He jumped off the bed, book temporarily forgotten, as it was open to a page with a blue-and-black clad player zooming around some poles.

"W-What are you doing here? How did you—?" he stuttered, not knowing what to say. She definitely wasn't supposed to be in here, that was for sure.

"Chill out, James," she said airily. "I have something to tell you and I simply need you not to ask too many questions, okay? It is frightfully important."

He frowned, though his face seemed more receptive to one than Sirius's. "Um…okay…?"

She looked at him for a second, then started slowly pacing around the room. "Okay. I know the length and strength of your infatuation over Lily, and I, unlike your friend Sirius, know what you are feeling. I have not had a completely similar experience if that's what you're wondering, but I do recognize the signs. Let's just say I'm not here to stop you from feeling that way, so you can relax on that account," she began, James periodically trying to interrupt by wondering what she was doing, but she continued on. "What I do have to say affects someone I know and love very dearly as well as you, so listen closely. While I advise you to continue your affections towards her and efforts to get her to feel the same way, I also am advising you to become more levelheaded and get your ego and conceit under control. If you don't, you will not get what you desire, or what I desire for that matter. Trust me in at least this, okay? And please take what I'm saying to heart. It just might be the best choice of your life. Just make your advances less blatantly obvious and go for a subtler, romantic approach, will you? You're going to set bad examples."

She smiled in spite of herself, imagining Harry with Cho or Ginny, but reminded herself she was now trying to set up his parents, not him. He was silent for a couple moments, his frown having increased with every two sentences she said, until it seemed insurmountable. "So…" he started lethargically. "You're giving me advice concerning Lily? Why? Is there something you're not telling me? _Again?"_

She stared into his cadmium-rimmed hazel eyes, and with dead seriousness, she answered. "Yes. On both counts," she said flatly, and he looked discouraged somewhat at her response. "But I cannot divulge what I am refusing to tell you, so don't try. However, you do need to heed my words, or the results could be…undesirable."

"Undesirable? For whom? Okay, I've gone with you so far, but you seriously need to explain something. You can't just come in here unannounced—and I don't just mean the dormitories, I mean into our lives—and curse our friends, be so damn secretive, and then pretend like you mean well by talking to me about Lily. What the _hell _is going on? Tell me!" he exclaimed in frustration and intimidation.

She clenched her fists at her sides, feeling the familiar warmth and wood of her wand, telling herself he wasn't worth it to argue with. "You know what, Potter?" she said. "Do what you want. But I have seen the devil, the Lucifer, the literal Hell on earth, and he is worse than you can ever imagine, okay? So do this; what I tell you. Or you will regret it, do you understand me? Do you unders—"

"No, I don't," James interrupted, standing up to his full height in front of her. "I don't fucking understand. You haven't told me something I _can _understand! You haven't even told me how you know Lily's name. Or how you know where you're going around the castle, or how you know us. So before I start agreeing to your little guidance sessions, you need to disclose something tangible."

She inhaled a deep breath, telling her that she really needed to just calm herself and that if she cursed James now, she would be the one regretting it. She closed her eyes for a second, composing herself, before opening them again and being hit with that nostalgic sense of seeing Harry, and wishing she had listened to people when they had said Harry looked exactly like his father. At least then she might have been prepared for the similarities. As it was, she was finding it rather difficult to do so. She exhaled and looked at the father of her best friend.

"I have already told you, James. I can't tell you anything," she replied tonelessly, figuring if she kept as much emotion out of it as she could, it'd be better for everyone. "It affects my friend and it is imperative that you follow what I said! Don't even question me!"

"Well, excuse me for questioning you, Granger. Pardon me for wondering exactly why or on what rationales you're giving me this information," he said, now taking to retracing her steps, not taking his intense gaze off of her. "You come into our lives unannounced and with no explanation, almost murder our friend, demand meetings with Dumbledore, show up with unorthodox injuries, disappear for hours at a time, repair Sirius's paper with weird monotony—yeah, I heard that, don't even try and deny it—whom you've hardly met. Excuse me for asking a question." He stopped moving and fixed his gaze again on her. He was now wordless for the time being. Finally, just when Hermione thought the very air would break from lack of noise, he spoke. "Who are you, Granger?" he continued, voice so changed in lowering of sound that she had to strain to adjust. "Where did you come from? For what Hell-damned reason did you come here? Damn it, stop being so unexplained!"

Hermione was stunned by James's forcefulness. Where was the playful, joking boy she had heard about and even witnessed? Now he was replaced by a serious, inquiring, impertinent man? This world was even more twisted, upside down, screwed up than she had imagined. When she was with Remus, he made it seem like it'd be so easy, but now it was seeming impossible all over again. What should she indulge him? She couldn't possibly explain everything to him that she had to Remus, could she? No, that was out of the question. Ridiculous. There was no reason to tell the whole damn world her secret. What if James didn't keep it? What if he told someone like Sirius, or, God forbid, Peter? Even though they all had their small secrets—being unregistered Animagi for one—but she doubted she could entice them with her quite larger secret.

"James, I can't tell you," She said slowly.

His eyes were still horrifically angry and blazing, but his face held disappointment. This wasn't a great combination in Hermione's mind. "Why?"

Hermione cringed. She had come to not like that word much. It held so much contempt and deadly inquiry all in one. It was such a boundless query; one that didn't label its constraints, but people asked it so unthinking anyway. "Because—"

"Because you don't trust me? Trust? That's the reason, isn't it?" he asked, before she could continue. "That's what it comes down to. I know you've told Dumbledore; you've said that much already, but I can tell you've told someone else as well; you're much less spastic than before, or at least it seems so. So why can't you tell me, too? What have I done to give off the air that I am untrustworthy? What have I done to you?" his voice was steady but penetrating.

The sad thing was, was that James was absolutely right in everything he had said. Yes, it was trust that Hermione was afraid of. Ever since the War started, she had learned to trust only herself, not even Harry or Ron in certain matters. The only guaranteed person she could rely on was herself. Although sometimes she couldn't do even that. She wondered why she had confidence in Remus regarding her secret, but she supposed that the reason was that he had his own elemental secret to hold on to, so she figured he was good at keeping them. But she couldn't trust James. Not yet. He was too unpredictable. He was too easily swayed, no matter what anyone would tell her. She would risk his fury if it meant saving herself. To some it might seem selfish, but to her, it was the only way to protect everyone. The less people that knew she was from the future, the better. She had already induced her knowledge to two people, possibly three if Madam Pomfrey inferred anything, and she wasn't keen on exuding it to anyone else.

She shrugged. "Yes, that's the reason. I don't trust you," she said simply, and James looked livid. He didn't really want that response. "I hardly know you, and you've shown me no particular explanation as to why I should. Other people could think you're trustworthy, but me? I trust no one. And in my circumstances, that has proved influential and life saving. So I'm sorry, but—no, I'm not sorry…I have nothing to be sorry for—but you're just going to have to live with the fact that you won't find out what it is."

He glared appraisingly at her. "So you do have a secret. It sounds oh-so-world altering. That's wonderful, but honestly I don't care so much what it is as why you feel you can't say anything. Concerning trust, have I shown you any reason as to why you _shouldn't_ trust me? I don't believe I have."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to conserve her patience, although it was running out. Patience was another thing that went away as soon as more and more deaths started. She was tired of waiting for confirmation that someone was legit and if they were telling the truth. She would rather take matters into her own hands. This was one of those times. She couldn't deal with James's smartass remarks anymore. They were childish and pointless, and she had more important things to worry about. Like everything Remus said, and the reasons she was here. James's petty problems of trust weren't exactly in her top twenty items to waste thought on.

"Yes, I have a secret. It doesn't concern you; therefore, you do not need to know. I won't tell you and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise," she said tiredly.

"Oh, really."

Hermione's sixth sense that she had developed was starting to tingle. She didn't know why, but it was. It was best to get out of here while she could. His response was somewhat odd, and she didn't want to waste any more time figuring out why. "Really. I'm not going to tell you no matter what, so don't try finding out, because you never will. And take my advice on Evans. It will help you."

She walked out calmly, ignoring the breath indicating James hadn't been done talking to her, leaving him considering what she had said. Once she had got out the door, she leaned against it, closing her eyes once again. All this pretending was starting to wear her out. She wasn't sure how much longer she could handle this. Remus had told her he would help her, but she wasn't sure that was enough. And had he said all of them would help her? Including Sirius and James? She didn't think he would actually tell them without her consent, but she had to be careful.

_Great_, she thought, _another thing to be concerned about and watch out for._

This misadventure was turning out to be a direct spiral to Hell, and she wanted to get out of that churning, merciless whirlpool before it completely consumed her and sucked her in. Because if she got taken, she would never get out.

* * *

"Moony, there's something wrong with that girl," James said late that night when he and his three friends were all in the Common Room, after making sure Hermione wasn't there; he figured she was out wandering the grounds or something. He didn't notice Peter's piqued interest at his statement, as he was focusing on the more intelligent people in his midst.

Remus, too, was piqued, but for a different reason. He had to be careful as to what he said to his friends. He couldn't tell them about Hermione's huge secret, even though they were his closest family as far as he was concerned. "What would make you say that?" Lupin asked, his voice as nonchalant as he could make it. No one seemed to catch his possible faultiness, which he was grateful for.

James turned to him. "What do you mean, 'what would make me say that'? Everything! She comes up to the Boys' Dormitory, gives me advice on Lily, won't tell me her secret, then leaves? Her strange entrance? You don't think that's enough?"

Lupin exhaled. He wasn't sure he could carry on this charade too much longer. He would try, oh he would try, as Hermione seemed to need this to be kept under lock and key, but this was tiring. He admired her stamina. Then again, by her descriptions, she'd been through more than just needing to shut up about something.

"Okay, I'll admit that's pretty odd, but that doesn't mean anything's wrong with her," Lupin continued, feeling he was gaining some more skill on evading questions. "Maybe you do need some advice on Lily, Prongs. I mean, despite that, everyone has their secrets, and not everyone wants to tell someone, especially you. Yeah, she had a strange entrance and behavior, but so what? You've never met someone that has followed that trend? No, honestly, I don't think that's enough 'evidence' as you say, to convict her of anything, nor do I think it's something to concern our minds about."

Sirius and James looked at him as if he had turned into a werewolf on the spot. Peter was looking into the fireplace at the flickering flames. "Moony, I think something's wrong with you. What's going on? Has she talked to you or something and you're just trying to cover it up?" Sirius asked.

Though he could see Sirius was being half-serious, he flushed. "No, Padfoot, I most certainly am not," he said, then winced, making a note to not be so insistent on denying something. "And nothing's wrong with me. I just don't think here's anything too suspicious, worthy of investigation, and odd with her. I mean, what about Wormtail? Ask him something. He's been awfully quiet."

They all three looked at their last slimy friend. He was, indeed, doing nothing. He didn't even seem to sense the silence. James, Sirius, and Lupin all looked at each other with confusion. "Wormtail?" Sirius asked curiously. "WORMTAIL!" he asked again, louder, when Peter failed to response

Peter jumped about a mile and almost fell out of his chair. "What?" he answered shakily, and they even thought they detected a hint of annoyance in his tone, but passed it off.

James frowned. "What's with you? Are we all going nuts now?"

"Meaning?"

Sirius motioned with his hands an 'are you kidding me?' gesture. "Meaning you're being idiotically quiet. Usually you have something, granted, stupid, to say, but now you're not saying anything! Moony, old boy, you're not under scrutiny at the moment; now it's Wormie. What's the issue, Worm?"

Remus couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief, but that was short-lived as he joined Sirius and James's stares at their smallest friend, whose expression was most unusual. "Peter?" James asked tensely.

"Don't call me that again. I have a new name now."

* * *

Thank you to…

Mrs. St. John Allerdyce, The Almighty Cheez It, Purplebubble, Tuxita, Harpiebird, ViktorKrum's lazyllama101, SwayPippin, Kerri, BeckiSoup, Aria DeLoncray, and Sivaroobini Lupin-Black.


	8. Conduits

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Eight: Conduits_

* * *

"Peter, what the—" Sirius exclaimed, voicing aloud the thoughts of both Remus and James, who were too stunned to speak.

"DON'T!!" A female voice cut through the air, interrupting him, her tone determined and directing, but also slightly panicked. "You there. Bastard. Move, even _breathe _and I will personally make sure your already sorry existence is made ten times worse than the HELL you've put me and everyone else through. And don't even try deflecting what spells I can and soon will put on you, because there is no countercurse to them. Would you like to find out what they can do?"

Remus, Sirius, and James were all silent, not knowing which person to fear—Peter or Hermione. "You really think an empty threat like that will intimidate me?" he said robotically, his voice not sounding anything like what it should. "You need to learn something then, bit—AAGGHH!"

"_Mourira!" _Hermione's spell was said in just an icy and fiery tone as her warning moments before.

All five people in the room looked at Peter, who was now bleeding fiercely from the spot Hermione hit him with the spell, crimson rivers flowing silently down his pewter robes. He was turning more ashen with every second that passed by, his watery eyes filling up even more. Hermione's wand was still out, despite Peter's condition.

"_Reversée._" She said in a bored sort of voice, yet still on her guard. Immediately, as if frozen in time, the trails of blood stopped oozing, although all her reversal spell did was stop future bleeding, not help him in any way otherwise.

He looked up at her, his eyes flashing black for a fleeting moment. "Help…"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and even though her wand was still out and ready to kill him in a flash, she was not prepared for the word he said. Not that she was one to take him seriously, but she had heard that change of voice before…

She sighed, seemingly unfazed by the most recent event of this evening. "Ah, why, hello Voldemort. We meet again. Already having to possess other's bodies, I see? Tut tut. You'll need to do better than this _mousy _boy here to scare me off, you sick, vile, despicable, embarrassment to mankind, sweetie. You might as well leave, considering I know what you're up to. So, before I indulge my temptation of making this pitiful mass of cells here into Tapioca, I'd suggest you depart his body promptly. One…two…_three—"_

Hermione smiled as a gust of foul-smelling wind blew through the Common Room, emanating from Peter, swooshing around her, Remus, Sirius, and James for a moment, then disappearing leaving not a trace. She would have internally celebrated for a few moments more if it were not for the dead faint that Peter had fallen into, the thump on the floor distracting her attention.

But it appeared she was the only one that did get distracted, for the other three boys in the room were staring straight at her. "What the hell was that?" Sirius asked finally, once again speaking for all of them.

Hermione sighed. She really did not want to explain this…things just seemed to be getting more and more tedious the longer she stayed here. "What was it? What did it _look _like? Peter was a conduit being used by Voldemort to do no one knows what, his pathetic soul being suppressed by one of Voldemort's spirits, the Bastard's body to be used for Voldemort's dirty deeds. Unfortunately for him, I foiled his starkly and surprisingly ill-conceived plan, because while souls when they are taken over are suppressed by the incoming soul, or entity as it were, sometimes, if the situation is dire enough, they can emerge, normally for only a moment or two. Peter, the coward that he is, was doing anything he could to save his own skin, in this case calling out to me, as he figured out that I was the only one who was not afraid of Voldemort, not afraid to use whatever spells I had to to detain him, and I am the only one who actually knows just about all the spells there are to know in the entire world. But don't get too happy about this. Voldemort is relentless and he will be back, no doubt pissed off. I am not going to underestimate him, because I have seen what he has done and can do, and it is not a joyful sight. Voldemort will find a way around me, possibly using Peter again as a conduit, possibly using one of the other students in this school, or…_one of you_."

"Well aren't we just the happy camper." Sirius said with a smile. "Lighten—"

Hermione's wand was out again, getting faster with each time she used it. "Silence! If you will not heed my warnings and will not take them seriously, you will perish. Make no mistake about that. So if you would like to die mercilessly and in more pain than you can imagine, then be my guest. But if you would like to live, I suggest you follow what I say carefully."

She raised her eyebrows at them, prompting them to answer. "Well, I know I will." Remus said, and Hermione gave him a meaningful glance, hoping his answer wasn't just because he knew she was from the future.

"As long as there's food involved." Sirius replied.

She leveled her stare to James. "You can't argue with a girl who stares at you like that, now can you?" She took that as a yes.

"You need to be careful." She repeated. "You need to look over your shoulder at all times and trust your initial instincts. They will save your life. You feel the prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling someone's looking at you, the creeping sensation that something's amiss…trust them. Trust yourself. Make sure you know it is really your friend you are talking to, not a Death Eater or someone possessed by one. Be exceedingly mindful of every word that comes out of your mouth, and if you feel you may not be able to rely on your counterpart to keep a secret to themselves or if you do not want someone to know what you are saying, don't say it. Keep it to yourself. Any information that happens to leak out will get out to Voldemort if he deems it necessary, and believe me when I say that you do not want that to happen. _You all must be careful. _Especially since Peter has already been subjected to Voldemort's powers. And you all might want to investigate how he got into that situation in the first place? Or why Voldemort chose _him _to possess as opposed to anyone else? I repeat…you cannot trust _anyone_."

"Oh, come on, you've got to be kidding me! Peter? He's eccentric and weak, I'll give you that, but he's not evil. I mean, think about it." James said jokingly, looking at Hermione. Her stare and the unchanging look on her face made James's smile slowly fade off his face and made him realize she _wasn't _kidding.

"You think I'm kidding? Do you _all _think I'm kidding? Do you think I'm going to pop out and say 'April Fools!' any minute now? You think you shouldn't take me seriously? Maybe when one of you gets KILLED you'll think differently!! Maybe when Voldemort takes over the school you'll be prepared!! Do you want to wait until all that happens? You need to pay attention and take all of what I've said in! OR YOU ALL WILL DIE. Does my face look like I am joking? Hmm? Does it? I am telling you all of this so you do NOT get killed! I am telling you this so Voldemort can be defeated before he completely destroys the world! I am telling you this so you'll be aware of the fact that at any moment, anyone you know can betray you! Are you not understanding the severity of what I am saying to you? Do you think this is simply a lesson or a test that if you ignore it, you'll still pass? Tell me, do you really think Voldemort or his Death Eaters will let you? Will let you live? Do you WANT to be murdered? Do you WANT your friends and families to be murdered? Because if you do, then by all means, ignore me!"

Now all three boys were paying attention. Peter was still out cold, which Hermione was vaguely grateful for. Although at the present moment, all she could do was glare into James, Sirius, and Remus's eyes, taking satisfaction in the fact that they were finally looking at her in a new light, scared, yes, but giving her notice. Finally.

"So you are saying that any one of us could really be You-Know-Who in disguise?" James asked.

Hermione blinked slowly. "Give me a break, Potter. Don't tell me you're afraid of a _name_. Just say it, damnit! Voldemort. Vol-de-mort. Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort. It's just a damned name, nothing more. Come on. I want to hear you say it."

James shrugged and eyed her oddly. "Voldemort." He said with ease, though the first syllable was almost indistinguishably hesitant.

Hermione gave him a rare, slight approving glance. "Now tell me that you will all watch out for yourselves, okay? And don't you trust Peter. Just don't do it."

"But Peter's—"

"NO!" Hermione yelled. "NO! Peter is an evil bastard, and he is not to be trusted. Be careful."

She strode out of the room the same way she had miraculously arrived in, leaving the three wizards once again stunned.

* * *

Once Hermione got out of the portrait hole, she exhaled. Even though her façade was well performed in her opinion, it was a façade nonetheless. Truth was, that while she wasn't strictly _afraid_ of Voldemort, per se, she was still taken aback that he was already trying to kill everyone. She would have thought that he would have planned everything out a little more fully; made sure he had covered all his bases. She didn't think he had already chosen Peter as his Conduit. Peter was still a boy; she didn't think that Voldemort would already _need _a Conduit. Wasn't he whole in this lifetime? Had he already figured out a way to make himself in spirit form? Take advantage of his Horcruxes? Hermione had thought she had at least a one-up on him, but maybe that wasn't true now. The tables had definitely shifted now. Not turned, but shifted. She would have to be more on her guard than usual. She suddenly felt weary as she realized she would now more than ever have to watch out for people. For herself and for everyone else. For she was the only one—besides Dumbledore perhaps—that knew just how much power Voldemort could disseminate to the world, to both Muggle and magic alike.

Hermione's eyes opened when she heard clicking footsteps ahead of her. She was well-accustomed to both darkness and light, and her eyes adjusted quickly. They still, however, could only pick up a blackened silhouette. As far as she could tell, the person had solid, low to the ground, heels on. Hermione did not bring out her wand yet, although she put herself in the mode so that if needed, she could access it in a fraction of a second. She didn't, however, count on it being someone she knew.

"Oh, hi!" the light and cheery female voice said.

Hermione said nothing as she tried to place the voice. "Hello…?"

She came into the light, hearing Hermione's confusion. "Oh, you might not remember. I'm Lily. Lily Evans. I had Harriet with me last time we talked, so you might have forgotten." Lily gave a small laugh.

Hermione, once she saw the infamous red hair and green eyes—Harry's eyes—, didn't need a second introduction. "Yeah, no, of course I remember you." Hermione's voice was as friendly as she could make it, considering the previous circumstance, although she was afraid it wasn't as nice as she could have made it.

Lily smiled genuinely. "So, how are you doing? I'm hoping you got a room and all your stuff okay? I'm sorry I didn't follow up with you before, but I've been so busy lately!"

Hermione almost was upset with her for being so perfect and nice to everyone. Almost. But she admired her nonetheless. Lily was impossible not to like, after all. She cleared her throat and swallowed. "Yes, I am doing well, thank you." This time her voice sounded fake and too peppy than she thought she could ever be. She didn't like it.

Lily seemed to sense at least a little of it. Her smile only faltered a little, but she held it anyway. "Well, okay then. I'll see you in the Common Room or just later?"

"Yeah, okay." Hermione doubted they'd be seeing much of each other, but she said it out of nicety. The most nicety she could muster up.

Lily smiled brightly again, said the password ("doodle frogs") to the Fat Lady, and disappeared inside to the warmth. Hermione suddenly felt cold. Not that since the War started she hadn't at all times felt frigid, but now it was an abrupt chill that swept over her body. She, on reflex, rubbed her arms to rid them of the stubborn goosebumps, relying on friction to work, but unfortunately it did nothing to stop the cold. She looked around, half-expecting to see Voldemort casting some spell on her, or even passing through her body. All she saw was…darkness. The castle was completely silent. There was nothing to be heard. It was actually unnerving to her. It was an unnatural silence. There was no sparking or crackling of the flames of the torches on the walls, no scufflings of a student or Prefect out of bed, no muted howling of the wind outside the Great Hall doors. No nothing. Hermione's breaths got shorter as she was reminded of the nothingness on the battlefield. Her heartrate sped up to a disconcerting level, and she began to be afraid. Yes, afraid. A feeling she hadn't had since Harry had relayed Dumbledore's repetition of the Prophecy…him telling her that he and Voldemort would have to die at the hands of the other. She hated the feeling, but sadly she couldn't abolish it from her mind.

_It's just my brain playing tricks on me…it's all in my mind…I don't need to be afraid…there's nothing to be afraid of…this is ridiculous…there's nothing here…there's noth—_

She felt the familiar yet still slightly scary sense of apprehension hit her from behind, and in a flash her wand was out, the spell not even vocalized, but rather said silently in her mind. The incantation was in fact a combination of _Stupefy, Petrificus totalus,_ and _Silencio_, a simple yet effective synthesis. She turned to face whatever had given her the surprise, and found no one except James Potter. She exhaled, not expecting him, yet slightly welcoming the familiar face. She almost found it humorous that there he was, the trickster and cocky 17-year old pinned up against the wall by an invisible force, not able to say anything. She didn't smile or grin, but she imagined that in happier times she would have.

"Well, James Caden Potter. Not someone I would have expected to sneak up to someone like that. You should be more careful. You never know what spells or offenses someone might have up their sleeve." She said in a reproving voice.

He simply stared at her, since he couldn't move at all, nor speak, but still she could tell he was not pleased. Lazily it seemed, she, again silently, reversed the spell. "You'll also get more enemies than acquaintances or friends if you're so jumpy like that and simply throw spells at someone."

This set her off. She didn't throw him up against the wall again (which would have almost been better), but rather calmly stowed her wand away in her pocket, and slowly, very slowly, walked up to him, aware yet ignorant of the fact that she was several inches shorter than him and a substantial bit lighter. He had an almost amused look on his face as she did walk up to him. That is until he saw the look on _her _face. It was a mix of sadness, fury, and weariness. His expression of satisfaction only faltered slightly. He still, however, she inferred, was pleased that he had to look down at her from his height.

"And you, Potter," she said, her voice barely a whisper, yet still scarily intense, "you'll never get what you want if you mess with the wrong people."

He matched her whisper. "And you're the wrong person?" His voice still held laughter in it, which was not doing anything to help Hermione's mood.

"Yes, you sorry son of a bitch, I am. Now if you'd like to make me curse your pitiful ass into Hell knows where, then by all means, continue. But if you'd like to ever reproduce in any way—or live for that matter—I'd suggest you cut the shit."

James's expression didn't change too much, except for perhaps a flicker in his hazel eyes. Hermione wished in some respects he would be more like Voldemort…at least Voldemort _pretended _to be afraid of her. Maybe he actually was, she didn't know. But even if he wasn't, at least he humored her. James wasn't doing even that! This was more infuriating to her than Ron asking her to go over the _Wingardium Leviosa _spell a zillion times! James definitely was more of a challenge than she had expected.

James seemed to sense her frustration. He lost the smirk at least. "Look, Granger, I admire your attempts at intimidation…the swearing and change of voice is an impressive tactic. But if you want to really have someone afraid of you, you're going to have to do better than that. Your threats are empty ones, even if we all know you're not afraid to use Satan's own spells. Or that you threaten us with information that no one else knows. I mean, come on. Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic? Face it, you need some polishing up."

Hermione's face muscles twitched in acrimony. "Empty, you say? _Empty? _'Melodramatic'?! You think I'm making all this up?! Just for the goddamn fun of it?! You have no idea the hell I've been through, so don't even try to imagine it! Don't bloody patronize me, James Potter! Don't do it! It is not my fault if you don't believe me, and it will be your regret if you don't! You want to die? Be my guest! You don't, then take heed of what I told you. 'Melodramatic' you say? Fine. Take it however you want. But don't come crying to me, bloodied up, body shredded, covered in hex marked, half an inch from death! Because you know what I'll say? 'Aren't you being a bit melodramatic, Potter?' Then you'll die right in front of me, and I'll laugh. I'll laugh like a crazed maniac because the irony will just be too much. So if you want that fate, then just go prance away like the conceited jackass you are, and pretend like the world is dying a very slow and painful death. Pretend that everything's okay, and it will be forever. Pretend that WE ALL AREN'T GOING TO DIE!!! PRETEND I HAVEN'T SEEN MORE DEATH THAN THIS WHOLE SCHOOL PUT TOGETHER TIMES FIVE! PRETEND HARRY, RON, GINNY, MALFOY, CEDRIC, MOODY, AND EVERYONE ELSE ARE STILL ALIVE! PRETEND THAT THE WORLD WILL BE OKAY FOR ALL ETERNITY! PRETEND THAT VOLDEMORT WON'T COME TO POWER!"

It was then that Hermione couldn't take anymore. Her wand dropped to the ground, barely making a scatter of a sound, and her following not very far behind. As soon as she did fall to the ground, she started sobbing uncontrollably, the dam that was built up not too long ago when she was talking to Lupin crumbling down, the tears trapped behind it now pouring out of their prison, swimming down her cheeks and finalizing their descent onto the ground. She didn't even both to wipe them away, but rather pulled her knees up to her chest, her whole body shaking with the emotion. She didn't even care that James was still standing there, didn't care that she was probably making a fair bit of noise, didn't care that she was breaking down, her beautifully crafted 'nothing can touch me' masque disintegrating away like _her _world had. Same as she had told James to stop pretending, she had to stop, also. She had in her terrorized mind that she would deal with the coming back in time, fix it, find a way to go forward into her own time, and everything would be happy again. She would see everyone again, there would be no Voldemort, no world gone into oblivion…no evil. But was that really true? Was Remus actually right? Was it really impossible that she would never see everyone again? Was it pointless to try and get Lily and James together so Harry would be conceived? What would it prove, anyhow? History would just be repeating itself, after all.

She would be disgustingly older than Harry, having to watch her younger counterpart have fun with him. She had always believed there was a reason for everything, even if it was a screwed up reason, but maybe that wasn't true. At the end of the day, what happened happened. Maybe cause, every effect, every instant was just accidents, freak accidents, that no one had control over. It was the Cosmos' roulette game. Wherever the ball dropped, that was what occurred. Was her coming back here the same thing? Was she neither meant to or meant not to come back? Voldemort didn't know, neither did she? Or anyone else? She had thought she had a purpose in life; a purpose that was to help Harry defeat Voldemort and save the world. But maybe she didn't have a purpose at all. Maybe this fate was what was going to happen regardless of what events led up to it. Had she led Harry right to his death? Ron to his death? _Everyone _to their deaths? She was fighting for a reason that had yet to reveal its true self, fighting for a cause that was invisible. She was just kidding herself. She had no part in this. She was simply a pawn in a screwed up, loaded game of chess. She felt like shit, honestly. How could she be so stupid? How could she have such a tunneled view? How could she not see the bigger picture? Why didn't she see this coming? She should have recognized the signs. But did she? No.

"I BET YOU-YOU'RE HAVING A HELL OF A T-TIME UP THERE AREN'T YOU, YOU B-BASTARDS! I BET YOU'RE HAVING A BIG LAUGH ON YOUR ASSES AT SEEING THESE EVENTS UNFOLD, AREN'T YOU? YOU DIDN'T THINK I'D BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH, SO YOU HAD TO SUBMIT ME TO _THIS _TORTURE AS WELL! WELL, CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'VE GOT YOUR HELL-PRESCRIBED WISH. YOU HAPPY?! OR ARE YOU GOING TO CAUSE ME MORE PAIN? BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I CAN TAKE ANYTHING. I'M NUMB, DEAF, BLIND, AND STUPID, SO WHATEVER YOU THROW AT ME, I WILL FEEL NOTHING. SO GO TRY. I HAVE LOST EVERYTHING. THERE IS NOTHING MORE YOU CAN TAKE AWAY FROM ME. BESIDES MY PATHETIC EXISTENCE. BUT YOU CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME, TOO, CAN'T YOU? WHY DON'T YOU JUST DO THAT, HMM? JUST KILL ME NOW! GOD KNOWS YOU'VE KILLED EVERYTHING ELSE CONNECTED TO ME! SO WHY NOT JUST FINISH IT? YOU'VE WON THE GAME AGAINST ME, SO GOOD JOB FOR YOU. NOW JUST FINISH IT, GET OUT OF THIS CHECKMATE YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH! JUST BEAT THE DAMN GAME, WOULD YOU? WHAT MORE _AGONY _CAN YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU KNOW WHAT? JUST FUCK OFF, DAMNIT!"

Her body was shaking again, huge, empty sobs and breaths coming painfully from within. She didn't know if whoever was up there in control heard her outcries, but she hoped they did. Not that they'd actually do anything, but it made her feel an inch better at least. Her wracking, scattered breaths were not ceasing, nor slowing down or showing signs of stopping, and she didn't know if they honestly ever would. If that constant pain in her chest—in her heart—would ever come to a halt. She almost thought they never would.

She felt rather than heard or saw James sit down perpendicular to her. It reminded her of the time seemingly so long ago in which James and Lily first kissed, her probably causing it. She wished Harry or Ron were here to comfort her. To make her feel better. Their smiles and laughter were always so contagious, whether they were forced and fake or not. She wished she could go back to them, to the happy times. She would give anything…_anything_…to see them just one last time. If she had only known that that last instant would indeed be the last…if she had only known…she would have treasured it infinitely. And now all she had was broken pieces of memories and images…it was like trying to remember a dream you had…you get certain parts of it, certain pictures, but you can't fully reminisce on it. It made her heart ache even more than it already had been doing. She felt like a knife was slowly—very, agonizingly slowly—being inserted farther and farther into her heart, its blade piercing ever so sharply, each movement feeling like death itself. And now it felt like the knife in her heart was stabbing her repeatedly, showing no mercy. The only problem was that this knife was not actually killing her physical body, so she had to hold with the pain.

And then she felt like someone had abruptly just decided to answer part of her prayers. She didn't know why, or what diabolical reason they had for doing it, and she couldn't believe it was happening. It felt like Harry's—or Ron's, did it really matter?—arms were now wrapping around her, their warmth transferring to her body. She felt his smell, his form, his presence, and she moved closer to him, burying her head in his chest, welcoming with a heavy yet oddly glad heart hearing his beat. She didn't remind herself that Harry was, in fact, dead; she would take what she could get, even if it meant her mind really was playing crude tricks on her, making her imagine Harry was there. At least it was a good mirage.

"Harry, I wish you could come back. Bring Ron with you. Bring everyone with you. God, Harry James Potter, I miss you so much." She said, still sobbing, but the thought that Harry's spirit might be around her still comforting.

She didn't take into account, of course, the possibility that it _wasn't _Harry who was comforting her. Didn't take into account the presence that was physical, and who had just witnessed her breakdown. However, even if it wasn't Harry, she was at least glad that whoever was now holding her didn't say anything to tell her otherwise. At least they had enough sympathy that they let her think what she wanted to. They simply held her there, like she was an old friend in need. One that required help and assistance and love.

She didn't know how long she sat theme, her scrunched up into a ball, being held by she didn't know who, but she was glad for it nonetheless. That is, of course, until whoever it was shifted his arms and moved her. It gave her the chance to look at who her savior was, and though she knew in the very far back of her mind that it wasn't Harry, she was still disappointed when she saw his relation. And she could honestly say she was slightly surprised. She didn't know exactly who she expected (well…that wasn't true…she quarter-expected Harry…), but she didn't think, perhaps, that it'd be James.

She backed up a little, not in embarrassment exactly, but more in a minute form of shame at her actions. She was not a shameful person, usually, but in this moment, she felt it for some reason. "What, you didn't think it was me, Granger?" he asked quietly, given the still very late hour. His voice was stippled with sarcasm still, as he of course knew she did not expect him.

She stared him in the eyes, not blinking at all. "No," she said, in an almost inaudible whisper, "I didn't. I was hoping…wishing…thinking you were Harry." She realized how stupid it sounded, yet it was the truth.

"Yes, I gathered as much."

She nodded—well, nodded being a relative term, as her head merely moved up and down once, an inch or so. "Yes. But thank you, James. For doing that for me. I—I didn't deserve it much, and, well, thank you. I just—I don't know…lost control for a while…I just miss them all so much…"

It was then that she did aim her eyesight at the floor, feeling one tear sliding down. She was hoping no more followed. She was done crying. She didn't want it to happen anymore. "I figured. But at the risk of inciting any more gossip and suspicions about you—if there's room for any more, that is—I'd suggest you keep your emotions under control. No more late night crying, okay?"

He then slowly tilted her chin up and brought his face closer to hers until it wasn't all that far away, his hand on her cheek, then something seemed to happen in his brain, and he stood up, granted, helping her up also, but stepping inside the portrait hole at a fast walk nonetheless. Hermione was left frowning at his behavior, although was still incredibly thankful that at least someone was there for her in her dire time of need…and that that person did what Harry would have done.

* * *

As always, thank you to…

Sway Pippin, Kerri, moi, Aria DeLoncray, Growl Snarl, The Almighty Cheez It, Sivaroobini Lupin-Black, Killthefop, Fairysky, Mrs. St. John Allerdyce, and harry'n'mione4ever. I love you all so much!


	9. Tenses

**Death Sat and Hell Followed  
**  
_Chapter Nine: Tenses_

* * *

As soon as James left the hallway and got through the portrait hole, he sat down in an armchair by the fire, which was barely still burning, the flames starting to subside, some sparks sporadically emanating from the embers. James was not sure about what exactly he was thinking. It was as if every thought possible and no thoughts at all were running aimlessly through his mind. He ran his hand through his jet-black hair subconsciously, like he did whenever he was either perplexed or unsure about something. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, removing his glasses to take the strain off of his eyes. He vaguely wondered how late it was. He glanced at the fire again, and was immediately mesmerized by it. He found he could not tear his gaze from it, and he couldn't tell whether he even blinked or not. There were no more flames anymore, nor any sparks, just dimly glowing embers. They pulsated red, orange, and yellow, and curls of heat crumbled off every so often, disappearing into the small layer of soot. 

"Resembles my life." James thought. "Every time I get close to a perfect life, it starts fading, then disappears all together."

"I feel the exact same way."

James jumped, not expecting that anyone was there, and he realized that he had, in fact, spoken his thoughts aloud, not in his head like he had hoped. He recognized the voice, even without looking up at the visitor. "You again." He said simply.

The stranger got up wearily from its leaning against the wall and came to sit in the armchair across from James, taking a few moments to also stare into the flames. "Look, about just now…well, I realize that I'm not exactly the most welcoming of people; I'm also not really very easy to figure out. I just wanted to apologize for my erratic behavior."

He looked at her and met her eyes. "Well, don't think that I'm going to try and dissuade you from that little speech of yours, because I'm not. I do, however, have a few questions."

She took a long, deep sigh, closing her eyes for a couple seconds. "Alright. I'll give you three questions. Three, and that's it. No more, understand?"

"Yeah. First, who the hell is Harry? Where did you come from? And why are you here? Oh. And don't give me bullshit answers that are vague, misleading, and that don't respond to my questions at all."

She nodded her head slowly and solemnly. "Okay, but don't expect quick, witty, warm and fuzzy answers that tie up in nice little packages, because what you'll get is tragic, emotional, angering, and depressing ones. And don't interrupt me either. Got it?" James nodded. "Right. First question. Harry James Potter is one out of two simply amazing, endearing, and passionate people ever to roam the planet. The other's name is Ron Bilius Weasley, but you asked about Harry, and that's what I'll give you. Harry is also my most wonderful companion and friend, and I love him to d—to—to death, and we have been through more than just about anyone on this god forsaken world has, have seen more death and decay and destruction than should be deemed thinkable, and we still remain closer than ever. Or, rather…did remain. You see, Harry was murdered, not too long ago, either, by the most evil wizard to ever populate this place. But more on him later. Truth is, since all this has happened, I've been a mess, but I still had Ron and Harry by my side, and so things were made more bearable. But when Ron was murdered, then Harry…I just ran out of reasons to live. In fact, I was, myself, about ready to die, but by a turn of events, I was cruelly spared, and thus had to live with the pain. Harry was my best friend, and I'll never forget him."

Hermione took another sigh, for that first explanation had taken a small toll on her, bringing up Harry and his death again. She knew, however, she still had two more questions to answer, and she would stick by her word. She looked down at her hands that she recognized as now shaking slightly. She balled them into fists to try and stop the trembling, but it didn't help much. Her eyes closed for a moment, her trying to figure out how to best phrase her answers and how to keep her emotions from completely spilling over. After all, she couldn't let her façade drop now…not after this long.

"As for where I came from," Hermione continued, "it's a long story, but I'll try my best to summarize it for you. I'm from the future. Sure, it could be hard for you to believe, but you wanted my answer and there you have it. It sounds lame and dishonest and stupid, I know, but it is the truth, whether you choose to trust me on this or not. The fact of the matter is that Voldemort—I'm assuming you have at least heard of him…or at least his birth name of Tom Marvolo Riddle—had taken over the world basically. And not just the wizarding world either…he had started meddling with the muggles, too, killing anyone and everyone who got in his way, stood up to him, or questioned his powers. In my time, Dumbledore has died—or else Voldemort probably wouldn't have gotten so elevated—and thus we were thrown into darkness. Voldemort created things called Horcruxes. Short version is that he divided his soul into seven parts, so that if one part was killed or destroyed, the others left would still be in effect and he will have lived, one way or another. Harry, Ron, and I finally figured out where all the Horcruxes were, and we destroyed all of them…all but one.

"We had told the other Order of the Phoenix members about it, and we formulated what we thought was a flawless plan, and met the Death Eaters and Voldemort in an area protected from Muggles…we at least wanted to save the shred of privacy that we had left. Where I came from was what is called the Final Battle. As its name implies, it is where everything was going to end; where we all thought it would end; where it was _supposed _to end. But, at the very culmination of it, it seemed the Dark Side won. All the Death Eaters and all the Order members were dead, picked off one by one by someone of Voldemort's bunch—I don't know who, it was hard to keep track. Finally, it was just Harry, some Death Eater I forgot the name of, Voldemort, and me on the battlefield. I had just finished sending a deadly spell to the Death Eater, smiled at his thud on the ground, but turned in fright at hearing Voldemort's harsh, cruel, high-pitched laughter. I almost didn't want to turn around, but my feet made me do so. Now I wish I hadn't; I saw the spell hit Harry; I saw him fall down dead, the light in his eyes go out as silently and as quickly as a flame being snuffed. I turned to Voldemort, ready to kill him with a vengeance. I wanted to torture him; wanted to rip his flesh from his bones with my bare hands and laugh over it. I wanted to cause him so much pain…pain as bad as I felt! He avoided the few spells I managed to throw at him, and then the Killing Curse finally hit him but it was only his last Horcrux that died.

"By that time I was both weak and even more angry and murderous than I was before. I took a moment to stare him straight in the eyes—make sure I was the last thing he saw before his final death—but just as he raised his wand to kill me, and I him, my fingers accidentally caught on my necklace. My Time-Turner necklace, as I'm sure you've figured out by now. And with that, I was plummeted here to your world, landed on the ground—painfully, I might add—and I think you remember all from that point on…" She sat down slowly into one of the chairs by the fire, that long explanation taking almost all of the strength out of her. Unfortunately, she knew she still had one more question left. And perhaps her next question was going to be the hardest of all.

* * *

Little did James or Hermione know, someone was watching them from just behind one of the armchairs. His journey to outside the portrait hole had originated as him wanting to retrieve some midnight nourishment, but when he saw that mysterious girl explaining everything to Potter, he decided that that was more important than getting food. So he sat there, listening to everything she indulged to James. Of course, he still remembered everything about him being possessed, thus the information she was talking about was infinitely useful to him. He didn't know _who _exactly had taken over his body as his soul was in submission when the entity took over and started speaking, but he knew that it was a powerful being. A being which he needed to commune with. So, in order to do that, he figured he would need to let the girl—from the future apparently—complete her story.

* * *

"Now, the third ques—" Hermione began, but stopped suddenly. 

James looked confusedly at her, questioning why she halted her explanation. "What is it?" he asked.

"Shh!" she commanded, staring at him with serious and cautious eyes. She held a finger up to her lips.

Prepped from years of being taught defenses and offenses, Hermione had developed an amazing sense of perception, that had come in handy in numerous occasions. Now was one of those times where the perception came into play. She got the distinct feeling that someone was behind her, watching her, or listening. She gave a signal to James telling him to stay where he was, and she was surprised that he actually obeyed it, but was glad nonetheless. Whoever was around here, hiding, she didn't need James to be hurt by it. She crept silently across the Common Room, over to where her sense started getting stronger and stronger. She looked back at James and pointed, telling him that the person who had overheard her was behind the entrance to the Boys' Dormitory. He gave her a look of perplexity, but she turned around, continuing her search. With a quick movement, perfected from numerous trials of speed and agility, she brought out her wand and pointed it at where the person had been. Unfortunately, she saw no one there. Nothing moved. Except for a small shuffling moving away from her. She squinted her eyes, trying to get them adjusted to the darkness, but let them relax in an almost obvious manner, at seeing what had been making the noise. A rat.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" she yelled at the shape.

Her spell couldn't have been more on target. It was rather amazing that she hit a mark that was probably only five inches in length, the spell emanating from the center of the rat all the way to its spindly tail. Immediately, the spell took effect. The rat—or Peter, rather—stopped mid scuffle, its body falling flat on the ground.

"_Mobilicorpus_." Was the next word Hermione uttered. Turning back to James' face, she explained. "Don't want to touch vermin."

His look held a pained expression, as if torn between two sides. He wanted to be loyal to his so-called friend, but the evidence Hermione told him wasn't exactly comforting or in Peter's favor. "Vermin…" James repeated absently.

"Yes. Vermin." Hermione stated once more. She levitated Peter's body over to the ground in front of the fire. Dropping him to the floor mercilessly, she held her wand once more over him. "_Homorphus._" She incanted.

Pleased, she watched his rat shape start to form into a larger shape—the human body that still resembled his rat's form well. "Peter?" James asked, astounded, his voice coming out hoarsely.

Hermione undid the body bind spell, and watched his expression turn from one of mischief to horror. He started to both run off and turn back to his Animagus form, but Hermione caught it. "Ah, ah, ah. I don't think so, Pettigrew. Stop right there and I might refrain from maiming you."

He seemed to have an internal battle with himself, but stopped nonetheless. "What?" He asked nervously.

"How much did you hear?" she questioned, getting straight to the point.

"How much of what?" He played as if he didn't know.

"Oh, please, Pettigrew. Like I don't know you were right there listening to me talk to James. Now I'll ask one more time before I make you tell me. _How much did you hear_?" she repeated her question.

Peter took a deep breath. "Enough." He answered cryptically.

"That's what I thought." Hermione replied in a bored tone. "_Obliviate._" She said, in the same monotonous voice.

Peter acted as if he was slapped, then got a dreamy look on his face. In a moment, the spell performed its magic on him. "What am I doing here?" Peter asked.

"You were just going to bed, I believe." Hermione said believingly.

Peter turned to James, as if not thinking Hermione's statement was true. James shrugged, not sure what to say himself. "Right…right…" Peter muttered as he shuffled off to bed.

"You erased his memory?" James asked infuriatingly.

Hermione studied her fingernails. "Only until before I talked to you. He remembered me, didn't he?"

"Sure…" James trailed. "Isn't it illegal to mess with one's memories?"

Hermione thought of threatening James again, but she didn't think it would have much of consequence to him. "So is murdering people." She said deadpan, her eyes clouding over.

In a moment of vulnerability, James crossed the small space between he and Hermione. To both his and her surprise, he pulled her into a hug, trying to comfort her. She stiffened at first when his arms wrapped around her waist, but then relaxed visibly when she realized he was just trying to help her. As long as they were both off guard, she assumed she might as well let it all out. Before she knew what she was doing, she collapsed into his arms, tears rolling down her face silently. She said nothing, but she felt she didn't have to. He simply held her for what seemed an eternity, but honestly she didn't care. The lack of sound was greatly appreciated, and the only thing that interrupted the stillness was the rare crackle of another ember falling off the logs.

"James…I don't know what to do…" Hermione said after a while, her voice quiet and worn. "I've tried to be so strong, but I can't hold up the façade forever."

She felt his chest rise as he was about to respond. "You don't have to be strong, Hermione. You can let your biting tongue rest for a while, believe it or not."

Had she been in her element, she would have tossed back some retort, but instead she just sighed, defeated. "But I _do _have to. Voldemort isn't prone to patience, and neither is Peter. The more I'm here, the more I lose my knowledge of strategies. I've already betrayed my mission by letting Peter eavesdrop onto my explanation to you. Who knows what will happen next." She admitted.

"But you erased his memory—" James consoled.

"But the fact that I had to erase his memory is my point. I shouldn't have had to do that. I should have been more careful. Harry's right in repeating Siri—_his_ advice…the enemies are in the walls. No one can be trusted." She said sadly.

He pulled away from her. "I can't be trusted?" he asked, his hurt evident, though Hermione didn't know whether it was real or imaginary.

She took on the same pained expression James had had not too long ago. "Oh, I don't know, James."

She turned to go sit down by the fire, but James's hand on her arm stopped her. "You can trust me."

Before her learned clairvoyance took effect, his mouth was upon hers in a fervent heat. She resisted at first—much like she had when he took her into his arms—but then threw all judgment out the window and responded to him. She placed her hands around his neck and returned his sudden, unexpected ardor. His hands advertently grazed to her waist as he pulled her closer. He picked her up and brought her over to one of the bigger armchairs, sitting down on it with Hermione still in his arms, their connection never being broken as he kept his lips with hers. They both knew they could stop, but if the predicted apocalypse was to come, they might as well take advantage of it.

And this time, there was no one to see any of what happened.

* * *

"Hey, where's Prongs, Moony?" Sirius asked semi-seriously as he and Lupin were walking back to the Common Room from meandering around the grounds. They for sure knew how to avoid people from scolding them for being out after curfew, but this time they didn't feel like causing chaos. Yes, it was a novel thought to them, too. They were still trying to figure it out. 

Remus replied tiredly, feeling the rising weariness that came with the onset of a full moon. As he held his array of books, he suddenly wished the Common Room wasn't so far away. "How should I know? You know Prongs…secrecy is his friend."

Sirius scoffed, his laugh bark-like. "Ha! Now there's some overstatement if I've ever heard some. Do you realize what you just said, Moony? Prongs is the _least _subtle and discreet person I know. Don't tell me you don't remember all the times we've had to bail him out or find another secret passage to hurdle him in to prevent him from getting caught?"

It was Remus's turn to laugh, the sound betraying his actual fatigue, as he adjusted the five or so tomes he held. "Yeah, I remember." He replied playfully. "How could I forget? I still have the scars from his escapade which involved scraping past the Weeping Willow when we didn't have Wormtail around just to save Prongs from getting killed. That day sucked."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic! You do not have scars!" Sirius objected as they neared the portrait hole.

"I might. You never know. After all—_flibbertigibbet_—hanging around with you three I'm bound to get battle wounds. Who the hell knows what'll happen next?" Remus asked, stopping mid-sentence to give the Fat Lady the password.

She opened the portrait hole with a sly, almost knowing smile as she let them in. "Aw, you don't really mean—oh my fucking God!" Sirius exclaimed surprised, staring at the scene in front of him. "What in the name of all things mischievous are you _doing_?!"

Remus gaped at the same thing, rendered speechless. The two people entwined in front of him and Sirius were two people he never thought would be together. Not even in the most apocalyptic of situations. _Never. _The thought was laughable! And yet, here they all were, laughless. If Remus was anyone else, he would have dropped his books as fast as his mouth had, not to mention Sirius's. To say the least, they were both shell-shocked. They didn't even have words to say anything, which, when none came to Sirius's mind, you knew _something _was catastrophically wrong. The two figures jumped visibly, turning to the newcomers, and deafening silence filled the room, only the crackling and fizzling fire slicing through the asphyxiating tension. In fact, it was the only thing that moved. Even Remus's arms, exhausted from the poundage and condition of the volumes he possessed. Remus could practically see the confusion, frustration, astonishment, and, oddly enough, mirth emanating from Sirius's body. It was saying something when Sirius exuded any perceptible emotion besides amusement and impishness.

"I—uh—we—that is—" the black-haired form began. Well…began being a relative term, considering not much besides psychobabble ended up coming back.

Those few starts of words released the inhibitor holding Sirius's vocabulary back, and with it, he decided to voice his opinion, which apparently had lots of voicing to do. "'That is—we—I—'yeah, save it, Potter! Are you out of your _minds? _I—God I can't even talk! I don't know where to start. What is wrong with you two? When Moony and I left you guys were battling wars with each other! And now we come in here, worried to near death about your whereabouts and circumstances and possible constabulary interventions? Well, congratulations, Prongs, you got us this time. Look at me, look at me! This is usually Remus's job, spouting off reprimanding nonsense, and here I am, fulfilling it. What does that tell you? Hmm? It tells you I am _pissed off. _Agh! I can't speak to you anymore. Moony, have at it!" Sirius yelled, not able to form coherent phrases any longer.

At the address of his name, Remus looked briefly to Sirius then back to James and Hermione, who were both sufficiently noiseless. Remus didn't quite know what to say, either. He wasn't really as annoyed as Sirius apparently was—though Remus knew that no matter what Sirius would be back to friendly acquaintances with the both of them probably before the night ended—but surprised would probably sum up his emotions right now. Surprised and confused, that is. Sirius was right on one of his counts, that much was for sure. They were practically waging crusades against each other last time they all four were in the same room. Hermione had definitely mouthed off to them all, James in particular, and there they were, mouths all over each other. He didn't understand it any more than Sirius did. James he could almost imagine, considering James's not quite monogamously faithful endeavors to the female population, despite his odd infatuation with Lily. Lily. What had happened to her? Last time Remus and Sirius had checked, he was still basically in love—or at least in lust—with her.

_Well my mind is officially scattered, _Remus thought sardonically. _Thanks a lot, Prongs. Thanks a whole hell of a lot._

Sirius was having similar thoughts, though his consisted of more incomprehensible rambling, words floating in at their individual wills, never settling in nicely next to each other, with proper grammar and sentence structure. Not even a semblance of a sentence structure, actually. No, that part was left for Remus's strategic mind, though even that was iffy. None of the four-member coterie congregating in the Common Room exactly knew what to voice, which was elemental in the fact that there was usually not even one inaudible moment between them. With Remus maybe, but not with anyone else. Deciding to slightly drop his befuddlement and dissemination of his ponderings, Remus switched instead to observing what was going on here and if there really was a logical explanation for all of it. He hadn't known Hermione for very long, but he did know her well enough to realize she wouldn't just jump into something like that. She may have been vulnerable, considering she was from decades in the future and in a place and time completely foreign and inane, but she wasn't _that _vulnerable. Not vulnerable enough to submit herself to rebounding and…and…_James_. If she was to pick anyone, Remus was certain James wouldn't be her first choice. He had nothing against the hazel-eyed being, he was one of his best friends, but he had to admit that James wasn't exactly the prime person to get romantically involved with right away. For Christ's sake, James had been going after Lily for years upon years and she had barely warmed up to him.

Remus creased his brow in concentration as he moved his gaze from Sirius to Hermione, subconsciously adjusting the leaden and awkward objects in his arms. Her eyes immediately met with his, glimmering sienna met with brilliant, icy blue, as if she had been thinking the same thing at the same time or used some sort of Legilimency to telepathically enter his mind. Either way, he felt the psychic connection tap into place between them, and as if a portal of reality and truth had opened up and sucked them both in, allowing for everything besides what he perceived from Hermione to go into a dark hole of oblivion. He imagined she was going through the same motions, given the concentration she was giving him, her caramel eyes not blinking. It was strange—it was like he and she were having an internal conversation with each other, but all they were doing was staring into each other's eyes. He would have laughed at the oddity of it had the situation been quite a bit different and not so damn awkward.

_So…what were you thinking? _Remus's telepathy asked.

Hermione's laughed with a mixture of nervousness, anxiety, and confusion of her own. _Can we not go over this now?_

_No…we need to. Are you looking at Sirius's eyes? They're abnormal. I mean, they usually are to match him, but they're usually some sort of stormy gray—his adjectives, not mine—, and now they're black and manic. Nice going, Granger._

_Oh, right. And that's _my _fault? It's not my issue you all walked in now!_

_You shouldn't have been in a situation where it would be bad if we walked in in the first place!_

_You're insufferable! At least you in the future are—were—I'm sorry, I can't—_

_Yeah, I know. Future consequences. What else is new. Oh, wait. The fact that you're on Sirius's _death_ list now! _

…

_Um…wrong choice of words. Sorry._

_I'm over it. Don't sweat it. Really. It doesn't matter._

_If it matters to you, it matters. I'm here, Hermione. As cliché as that sounds, it's true. You can talk to me. I may not be my future self yet, but I can't imagine I'd have changed that much, and if you could talk to me then—can talk to me then? Will talk? I hate tenses—you can talk to me now. Can we just get through the next few moments and face Sirius's wrath?_

_You're sweet, you know that? And, to inform you, you don't change. I adore you for it, I really do. And if I survive the doomsday that is due to ensue, I promise I'll think about it, okay? Thanks, Professor._

_Hey, now. It's not 'Professor' yet. I have a while before that happens. And keep the future info to a minimum if you can…much as I'm dying—_wanting_—to know, I don't want anything to change that's not supposed to. I don't want to change my future any more than you have planned. Weird as that sounds. _

_I understand. So…here we go? I bequeath all of my possessions to you when I die in about ten seconds…_

Then, as if some kind of Cosmic knife had sniped the connection between them with Hermione's last unspoken utterance, Remus and Hermione both blinked at the same time, subtly glancing around to see if anything had changed, but apparently the time in their psychic conversation happened in a parallel dimension to regular time—that is, no earthly time had passed during the moments they had conversed together. It was a concept nearly as strange to think about as time travel, but Remus was adamant to not give himself more of a headache than he already had. Right now, he had to save Hermione from getting her future self killed, which would in turn kill her past self and future selves…

_So much for no headache, _Remus thought cynically, pressing two fingers to his temple, switching the seemingly weightier pile of novels to his other hand in order to try and relieve himself some mental pain. It didn't really work.

At the moment, Sirius was still glaring daggers at his best friend, his front being pissed off, but Remus, even in his aching state, could tell that it was only that; a front. He knew Sirius could never _really _be that mad at James, no matter what the circumstance was. They had been friends for so long that Remus believed wholeheartedly that statement. Sirius might be annoyed at James and Hermione's tryst, but it wasn't something that would shake their friendship. They'd work it out later, but for right now, Remus needed to talk to Hermione, preferably alone. He'd leave Sirius and James to their own devices, and with all luck, they'd be playing Exploding Snap by the time Remus and Hermione were done discussing. The scary thing was, Remus didn't even dismiss that possibility. He gave a last disgusted glance at the dusty books in his left hand and bent over to slide them onto the semi-polished oak desk near them, his arms nearly singing in relief at the absence of burden. He looked to Sirius and ultimately shook his muscular shoulder, getting his attention. With the same fiery look in his undecipherable gray eyes, Sirius finally returned Lupin's stare. Remus did have to admire Sirius on his ability to hold an immediate grudge.

"Hey, Padfoot, you mind if I talk to Hermione for a moment? You can bemuse Prongs with all your sociopath nonsense if you want, but I need to have a word with her." Remus said, trying to put it as lightly as he could, if anything than to avoid Sirius's transference of irking from James to him.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, but already Remus could see the anger dissipating from his eyes, they returning to a calmer gray than the conflicted one before. "Yeah, sure, whatever. See if I care."

Remus shook his head at Sirius's antics, but said nothing except to cross the room and take Hermione over to the armchairs, sitting her down on the one across from him, while he watched Sirius and James head over to the far corner, mouths already spouting off various verbalizations, not all pleasant. He only heard snippets of what James and Sirius were talking about, but he turned away from them, convinced they wouldn't do any serious harm to one another. Instead, he locked gaze with Hermione again, whose eyes were once more shut off, the crumbled barrier between her mahogany orbs and the rest of the world right back up where it had started before. He sighed as he calculated the obstacle ahead of him. He took a breath, but before he could say anything, Hermione beat him to the punch.

"Profess—er…Lupin, I know what you're about to say, and I've not quite come to terms with it either. It's weird and uncouth and stupid and my mind is all everywhere right now. I don't think even I can psychoanalyze it let alone have someone else do it." Hermione admitted, though, despite her seeming confession, her barrier had strengthened to greater heights, which made Lupin rub his hands over his face in frustration.

"I have to admit this is strange, me being a great deal older than you technically, but not…anyway, I don't hold anything against you if that's what you're worried about. I don't really see what the big deal is, anyhow. I mean, you like Prongs, and he likes you. It's not that huge of a phenomenon. I mean, there is the fact that he was like in love with Lily and you're from the future and he's your dead best friend's father and all—" Remus started.

Hermione interrupted him before he could go any further, some anger rising in her, but she had to concede that his sarcasm and humor lightened it a bit. "Okay, you are so unhelpful. Let me tell you, if you keep this lame advice up, you'll never get to your full teaching potential." She bit back.

"Hey, no fair using future knowledge. Some of us are still stuck in the present, here! Past…? Will be stuck…? Oh, I give up." Remus submitted, collapsing into the chair.

He was glad that Hermione at least seemed to be opening up a little to him, emotionally anyway. She obviously had the lust part going for James, but Remus would take some information in confidence over a one-time make-out partner. He studied her naturally beautiful face once more, and was immediately saddened all over again by it. Her skin was a delicate ivory, but marred by the darkened lines of wisdom and horror etched inside of it, nearly permanent blood always lingering in the pores and recesses of it, as if waiting for the right calamity to show themselves. She was supposed to be in her prime years, her years of searching for self, and instead she was propelled into the dangerous future with no past to steady herself upon. She was too young for this to have happened to her; she couldn't have taken all these tolls without having parts, and finally all of her soul ripped and torn out of her body, bit by bit. He could only imagine—no, he could hardly do even that—how grisly and heinous losing so many comrades and friends.

If he ever lost Sirius or James…or even Lily, for that matter…he didn't know if he could handle it. He was a strong person, he wasn't going to act modest here, but he didn't know how he would fare if such a catastrophe befell him, like it had her. Here she was, a young woman, with years forced in upon her with no way out, no way to push it all back in and start over. Yet as he looked at her, he could start seeing faint, barely noticeable flushes of mirth and youthfulness just waiting, begging, _yearning _to come forth and explode in all their pyrotechnic luster. He didn't want to dampen it, that was for damn sure, but he didn't want her to live a false life, a hologram of a life, where the people she literally communicated with weren't real. Weren't real, that is, in the sense that when she went back to her life, they would be there no more. Unless she changed the past. However, although Remus wasn't quite up to his PhD in time travel and time loops, he honestly didn't believe having a fling with her expired best friend's father was exactly the right way to go about it. He suspected she knew that, and he didn't know why she was giving in to the lure of the yesteryears, but the fact of the matter was that she was. He just needed to make her see what her true objective was—is—before it was too late and there would be no way to stop the past from repeating itself.

* * *

Okay, there aren't words for how bad I feel for leaving you all, except that I'm truly sorry and I promise I hadn't—and haven't—forgotten about you! I'll update as soon as I can, along with my other stories. Review, please!!! 

_Personal thanks…_

The Almighty Cheez It, SwayPippin, siraelle, Fairysky, LandUnderWave, harry'n'mione4ever, Sivaroobini Lupin-Black, Kerri, Viktor Krum's lazyllama101, Sassafras123, and Gueneviere.

Thanks, guys, and I apologize _profusely _once more!! Until the next time,  
written in dreams


	10. Mistakes

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Ten: Mistakes_

* * *

"Padfoot, why are you being so neurotic about this?" James asked calmly, although his own temper was starting to rise, at the fact that his best friend was blowing up at him, he got caught with the Future Girl that still had clouds of mystery surrounding her, and he hadn't started his Potions homework yet. Not that that last one was a huge deal, but he figured predicaments were better in threes if you wanted to vent them.

"Why are you being so casual about this? You don't even _know _her!" Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands up for emphasis, his black hair falling into his eyes.

James sighed in exasperation, annoyance, and surprise, not only at Sirius, but at himself as well. What _had _he done? James's little voice in the recesses of his mind struggled to make itself known, having been silenced for a good long time now, rarely getting the chance to override James's diabolical, mischievous one. Now, however, James's synapses seemed to malfunction for a few seconds. His conscience decided to take note of those seconds and speak up.

_You ass, _it said with conviction, and James cringed at the likeness of it to both Sirius and Remus's voices. _She's from the fucking _future_. Where could this possibly go? Who knows what damage you've done? Plus, she leaves, and what happens? She's what, twenty years in the future? How far did you really think this could from now? You do realize that in her time, you'd be old enough to be her father? You're unbelievable and disgusting, Potter._

"I am not," James objected, not knowing it was said aloud.

"Excuse me?" Sirius asked, still incensed, his breathing labored from the exertion he had expelled. He wasn't used to being truthfully angry with his best friend.

"I am not…uh…" James trailed eloquently, subconsciously throwing his hand to his head, mussing the jet-black strands even more than they already were.

He looked into Sirius's enraged gray eyes, which were filled with such a strange and different emotion that James was taken aback. Usually, Sirius maybe called him a name or hit him upside the head when he was angry, but got over the grudge like a goldfish forgot its memory. Now, on the other hand, Sirius had held onto this for more than a scarce few moments. It didn't scare James, per se, just surprised him. He wanted his friend back. He didn't really like this alternative universe Sirius. Unfortunately, he knew Sirius would not let him off the hook too easily. While Sirius hadn't seemed to have much of a temper or iciness with holding a dispute, he was very adamant and determined with what he set his mind to, and, sadly for James, it was now how pissed he was at him. Luckily, though, at that exact moment, the portrait hole opened up, revealing a beautiful head of red hair and brilliantly green eyes. James all but breathed an audible sigh of relief, though it did not escape his attention that this was the second time Lily had thankfully broken up a very stress-filled moment.

"Hey you guy—oh," she said, stopping at noticing the so obvious tension in the room, feeling she was intruding rather plainly. "Oh, I'm sorry. This isn't my place. I'll just…I'll be…I'm just going to go now…" Lily stuttered, seeing all four faces at her, one looking almost murderous, one just a mixture of betrayal and confusion, and the other two of sheepishness. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew she was interrupting.

"Don't be silly, Evans!" Sirius said, his voice higher than normal, due to his still boiling frustration. It was saved just for James and the ass kicking he was going to dole out sooner rather than later. Lily looked slightly frightened. "Come, sit, stay. You're just in time for James's explanation here!"

James flinched, and not only at Sirius's use of his real name. _So much for Sirius's possible releasing me, _he thought cynically. He glared at Sirius, though more out of apprehension and guilt than anything else.

Lily looked quite uncomfortable, inferring only something bad could come of what Sirius was saying. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, and her face reflected strain to say something, but stopped herself with Sirius's mindless rage. She had known him ever since the first day of their first year, and this was definitely a new facet of him. Thus she'd rather either not figure it out at all or figure it out in a different, less awkward, situation. She had been around that particular wizard long enough to know he was up to something. She didn't know what, but she had a strong feeling it had to do with the black-haired man in front of him. Maybe even the mysterious new girl sitting on the couch across from Remus. In consolation, Remus was looking just about as unnerved and uncomfortable as she was, if not more; like he was battling himself as to which friend to side with, even though he usually was mediator. Which told her there was a friend that should have been sided with—not a great situation.

"Oh, no, I can't—" she started, before Sirius crossed the distance between them in a matter of only a few strides, grabbing her roughly by the arm.

She let out a gasp of indignant surprise at his abruptness, and was hardly centered enough or stronger than him to prevent herself from being almost dragged to the remaining chair by the smoldering fire. Sirius sat her down unceremoniously into the thankfully soft piece of furniture, his ragged dark hair flailing, his eyes Lily was staring into livid, her trying to figure out the immensely odd behaviors of one of the infamous Marauders. She let out an exhalation aggrievedly, and tried to straighten up, though it was difficult considering the sagging of the material of the chair did both from use and from its fabric and design. She was now stressed and perturbed in addition to her confusion and strain, and she wasn't enjoying herself.

"Nonsense," Sirius told her, coarsely shoving the unruly section of hair back to join the rest. He turned to James, who was still near the corner of the room. "So, _Prongs_, what were you saying? I'm sure _Lily, _your _object of affection_, would like to hear what happened?"

James glared again at Sirius, and while he knew for a fact Sirius got the meaning loud and clear to shut up and he would tell Sirius the explanation later, Sirius seemed to be reveling in his upper hand. Lily had gotten the fact very obviously a long time ago that James liked her, and though she didn't particularly enjoy it too much at the moment, even despite their kiss they had shared, she blushed slightly at the so blatant introduction of it. She got the sinking feeling her name was about to be dragged into this again, and not in a good way. She motioned to get up, and even got past the chair's defenses, but Sirius was quicker, athletic reflexes or otherwise, and pushed her down again. She crossed her arms, but didn't struggle this time. Now she was actually piqued in her interest.

"Sirius Black, get to the point!" Lily commanded from her diminutive position on the chair. She was really getting impatient now. Fast.

Sirius smiled maniacally, and it startled Lily, which was saying something, as she wasn't a person that was readily scared. "Sure, sure," he said, almost drawing it out. He looked to Remus. "Anything you'd like to say first?"

Remus gave a noncommittal motion of his head, indicating he was interested in absolutely _no _part of this whatsoever and was merely here to prevent a casualty. "Sirius…" he trailed wearily. It was obvious he'd done interventions like this before. "Sirius, I think you should just leave it for now. This is going too far…"

"Do you?" Sirius asked, and he looked a bit miffed at Remus's spoiling. "Come on, Moony. You know what happened. You don't think that—"

"Will someone _please _tell me what in the world is going on!" Lily cried, exacerbated. She stood up with conviction, and placed her hands on her hips, in almost a perfect Mrs. Weasley fashion, which Hermione expected people to cringe at, but then she remembered painfully that none of them probably knew Mrs. Weasley…or at least, not the Mrs. Weasley Hermione knew.

"Oh, well, you see, James here—" Sirius started, his voice now much calmer than before; it had almost gotten back to its completely normal, joking tone.

Remus now stood up, his height just about equal to Sirius's, which helped his cause. His brown hair, piercing eyes and stronger frame were still foreign to Hermione, who recalled the graying-haired, prematurely aged body—yet the eyes were still the same—but he was still the imposing (whether purposefully or not) figure Hermione had once known, perhaps as far back as when she was thirteen years old. He had a cross, irritated look on his face, and she knew that this was one of the rare times when Remus actually took a physical stance on things.

"Sirius," he said dangerously. "Seriously, man. Give it up. We can talk about this later, but this is past the point of rationality. Plus, what James did…it's not the end of the world, Sirius. Just calm down and leave Lily out of this. She doesn't need to hear it; just don't bring her into the mess that this already is. We need to figure it out first without her here to be in the middle of it. Just back off."

All four other members in the room stopped, momentarily, their actions and views and stared straight at Lupin, who seemed oblivious to it. The way their stares were unwavering made it seem quite like Lupin was as much an anomaly as Hermione was when they first met her. None of them, not even Hermione—and she had seen so many changes to people, seeing death, and even simply when the War began—had seen him act like this. She wasn't sure whether it was a beneficial change or not, but it was certainly different. Truth was, she sided wholeheartedly with what Remus was saying; they did need to figure it out without Lily, whom, as Hermione thought about her, was one of the people who got hurt during this. And then, with everyone's face on Remus still, no one paying attention to her, her face blanched, remaining color draining from it like a recently unclogged sink. Her coffee-colored eyes widened slightly, her entire being realizing her horrible mistake.

This was James Potter. She had made out with James Potter. Harry's father, and thus now intervening between Harry's entire existence by doing so.

What had she done?

"Oh my God…" she said, attempting to be to herself, but she supposedly hadn't said it quiet enough. "What did I do…?"

The faces now turned to her, not with exactly the amount of fervent shock as with Lupin, but still with questioning attributes. Finally, Lupin, possibly not wanting more attention to himself, spoke up again. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

She didn't answer, as she was still treading the waters that Dumbledore had specifically commanded her not to when she originally arrived. She had entered without completely knowing it Harry's, Lily's, and James's timeline, and, by doing so, seriously, maybe fatally, changed it. By interfering with the romance between Lily and James, she very possibly could have erased Harry's life completely. This thought made her so sick to her stomach that she wouldn't have been surprised if she physically got sick. Eyes tearing up, and her heart panging mercilessly with this simple, horrifying thought, she moved her gaze up from the crimson carpet to Lily, the innocent bystander in this entire, whirlwind, screwed up world that resulted from Hermione's entrance to their time.

"Lily, I—" she said, not knowing where to start. If she told her too much, she didn't know what could happen. The romance could still not happen, which would be catastrophic. Much as she had unwillingly been attracted to James, she couldn't let Harry's life be in possibly irrecoverable jeopardy. She wouldn't. "I—I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…"

Lily's pretty, caring face creased in question at Hermione's words, which only Hermione truly understood, though by the look Remus had on his face, he was quickly attempting to put the puzzle together. And if anyone were to figure it out, it'd be him. "Hermione? What do you mean? What do you have to be sorry to me for?"

Hermione's watery eyes still stared into Lily's emerald ones, which, as everyone always said, were so exact to Harry's that, barring the rest of her appearance, Hermione was looking exactly at Harry. The same altruistic, passionate, benevolent, loving emotions were still there, even if the wounded distress wasn't present as was in Harry's from constant attack and perishing that they had all experienced back in Hermione's years. Yet, taking away all that, she was looking precisely at one of her two best friends in the entire universe, and that fact, almost more than any other, scared her beyond belief, making her catastrophic error even more real. She wished Lily just knew everything…maybe Lily could help…

_No, _her internal voice said. _You cannot do that._

_Why the hell not? _Hermione's other voice snapped. _Why can't I? Maybe this is what's supposed to happen. Maybe Lily was supposed to know what would happen between her and James. That they'd produce one of the greatest wizards alive, even though they did have to be the first two influential people to die at Voldemort's hand. They need to know._

_No, they do not. You _must not _tell them. You've meddled enough. Anything you say from here on out could wreck this story even more than you already have. You've screwed things up too royally to try and ruin it even more. You can't tell _anyone _any more._

_Oh, yeah? _Hermione contradicted acidly, upset with her own conversation. _Like you could prevent Professor Lupin to not figure this out? For all I know, he already has realized it and thus my mistake. Then what, hmm? Like he'd keep it to himself?_

_Come on, Granger. You know Lupin. There's no way, supposing he really did figure it out, that he'd do something as stupid as that. Though he probably hasn't time traveled, maybe not even has seen a Time-Turner up close, he knows the repercussions of it. At least _he'd _be smart enough to keep it secret._

She pulled herself out of her reverie, looking quickly between Lupin, who still had that same calculating look on his face, to Lily, with her concerned demeanor, to James, who had an undecipherable emotion on his expression. She skipped Sirius, though it didn't take a separate observation to know what he was thinking. He was thinking she and James were crazy, and Lupin was not thinking clearly when it came to his admonishment of Sirius. Sirius was another person she hated lying to. While he was so obviously different in this time, she acknowledged that he had the same features as the broken but strong and independent and warmhearted person she had known for, yes, a short time, but was one of the esteemed people she had the fortune to know. Still…her conscience was right. The less people that knew, the better. From now on, she would have to watch what she said. She had thought she had it under control, but judging by the current situation, that was hardly what she had. She had lost it without knowing it, and now she was vastly in over her head. She had to repair her damage, and fast.

"I just—" Hermione began again, subconsciously casting a desperate look to Remus, who, though he was struggling still to sense her thoughts, either couldn't or wouldn't help her out. She sighed, and it took all her self-restraint not to just admit everything right there. "I've just intruded on your hospitality," she settled, lying through her teeth. "You've been so nice to me and I haven't properly thanked you."

If Lily found this such an odd response in consideration to the rest of the room's looks, she didn't show it. "Oh, well, thank you," she said, somewhat fragmented.

Sirius, meanwhile, stared at Hermione, as though trying to figure out her inadequate saying, and she knew, with a sinking feeling, that next to Remus, he could discover her secret as well. Because, much as he was (like the teachers in her time had told her) a predecessor to Fred or George, he was brilliant, as the teachers had also informed her. Whether this was at general logic or just at spellcasting and potions, she didn't know, but she had a strong feeling that once he did find out, she'd be in even more admonishment than James was at the moment. Sirius, a more calculating look in his eye than before, which Hermione wasn't sure she enjoyed, stared from each occupant in the room to another. His mood definitely seemed to have simmered down from its previous caliber, which probably everyone was glad about. He gave a last helpless glance to Remus, who still upheld his forceful and static glare.

"Well, fine," Sirius said at last, his tone lighter. "But don't you _dare _think this is over, Potter."

James nearly let out a sigh of relief at this, but regained his composure. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied levelly, but there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Sirius looked like he was going to smile at his friend's antics, but figured that apparently he had an appearance to keep up. He turned to Lily, who looked thoroughly perplexed at the events of recent. "Sorry, Lils," he said, and she appeared shocked at his sincerity. "Well, up you go. You have some Transfiguration homework to study up on, I imagine."

"Yes," she said slowly, as if trying to find some hidden agenda in Sirius's words. "I do. Which _you _should be working on as well. If I recall, you barely scraped by with an A in the subject on your O.W.L.s. We've got our N.E.W.T.s coming up, which I will slap you if you don't pass."

"Nice to have you back to normal, too, Evans," Sirius said, a ghost of a grin on his face. "By the way, I'll be needing those History of Magic notes soon. While I had a lovely dream about a blonde on a beach last time, I still haven't gotten the hang of those Goblin Rebellion things yet."

"Yeah," Lily said, and Hermione was forcefully reminded of her own response when Harry and Ron would ask her just about the same thing. "You wish."

Sirius mocked a glare at her, but Lily merely strode slowly over to the stairs to the girls' dormitories, like she expected to be turned around again, but Sirius let her go, and Hermione could tell he was trying very hard indeed to hold on to his grudge. At this, she was somewhat thankful, as it would possibly mean a greater chance of getting herself on Sirius's good graces again. Which was a thought that she never imagined she would have; getting herself on Sirius's good side, that was. From when she knew him, he was so cynical she doubted his standards for trust were quite higher than in this time.

Nevertheless, the near complete return of his lighthearted tone was reassuring to her somehow; like, and maybe she was getting too much meaning out of it, it symbolized the way that everything could get better as well. The fact that she was getting hidden depths from Sirius's voice was almost demeaning to her, but regardless, it was what came to mind. Someone she knew from so long ago had been so blackened by hate and neglect and hardship, and now that same man was standing in front of her, completely different. Maybe it told her that the same thing could happen to her. Her, having been defeated—much as she liked to deny it—by the effects of the War and of Voldemort and of death, could maybe, _possibly_ recover, just as Sirius had. This Sirius didn't know it, of course, but Hermione did. That much was for certain. And this one thought was enough for her to want to spur it forth and make it come true. With all her being, she wanted it to come true. A small, flickering light in all the darkness…it was appealing to her. And she'd pursue it with all she had.

Apparently she had been unknowingly staring at Sirius, enough that he had rather flagrantly noticed it. "Now what?" he asked, in a tone that she suspected was supposed to be scathing, but lacked certain intensities.

"N-Nothing…" she murmured, not even knowing where to start, had they expected her to explain. As she attempted, in her head, to listen to herself in a third-person's point of view, it sounded ludicrous, even to her. "I just—nothing."

Sirius frowned, but said nothing, for which Hermione was grateful. "Look, Sirius…" James started, and Hermione was glad the spotlight was off of her.

Sirius's attention turned to James, and although there were still flecks of anger in his deep eyes, it was rapidly being overcome by sarcasm and carefreeness. Sirius cast a fleeting look to Hermione, who, although she wished to cast her eyes down to the floor in shame, or at least bolt out of the portrait hole to spare herself the chagrin she was receiving from the other members of the room, not to mention herself, but found herself stationed in place by Sirius's hard but still caring eyes. She could tell that, much as he wanted to hold this anger, it was slowly slipping through his hands, perhaps as fast as Hermione's world had.

Sirius turned back to James, and sighed. "Prongs, I can't tell you not to do something," he started slowly, like torn between so many emotions. James snorted, and Sirius rectified. "Okay, maybe sometimes. I'm just giving you a—a friendly warning. Just watch it, all right? You're my best friend, no matter what, but seriously, Prongs. Our lives are weird enough…don't make it weirder."

Hermione couldn't help but feel as though this was almost an empty warning, as she doubted this…_relationship_…could go anywhere in particular, but she slightly appreciated it nonetheless. Even if Sirius worded it like she wasn't even in the room. But, as she looked between the two boys, who both appeared as if they were trying their very hardest not to just grin like they had performed another cruel stint on Snape and high-fiving it to each other.

James, however, did smile, and Hermione got the feeling he'd been waiting to have the chance to do so. "I knew you'd come around, Padfoot."

He walked over to Sirius, and threw a very nonchalant arm around his shoulders, and, much to Hermione's (and, she assumed, Remus's as well) relief, Sirius gave a small smile as well. "Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in…" he muttered. "You know, if you weren't such an ignorant ass all the time, I doubt I'd let you off so easy."

"Easy?" James scoffed. "Padfoot, you almost broke Lily's heart, dude."

It was Sirius's turn to snort. "First of all, that whole breaking hearts deal lies solely with you. I had nothing to do with that; I was just…assisting in your mess coming to light. And secondly, yeah," he said sarcastically. "Because Lily's always been so eager to kiss you senseless. I doubt that one kiss with someone else would break her heart, anyway. However, has your most recent endeavor rendered you incapable of being more creative in winning Lily's affections or by successfully managing to make me hex you into oblivion, because far as I can see, you failed at that one. I'm not saying this fiasco has burnt itself out yet, because it hasn't, mate, but maybe a good curse on an unsuspecting firstie will help you out with your creativity issues. Maybe it'll make me feel better, too."

James seemed to ponder it for a moment looking to be biting back a retort, and Hermione was, again against her will, reminded of the antics of Harry and Ron, or at least of Fred and George. They had been two of the most perseverant fighters in the War, too, she remembered—not like it was hard to do so. Everyone had been slightly surprised at this, as the twins hadn't seemed to have a lot of the physical battling skills, but they held their own for a lot longer than some of the others, even Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had fallen after a split-second hesitation and a quickly-placed Killing Curse from Dolohov. Hermione, at the thought of that Azkaban escapee, subconsciously rubbed her chest, where the scar from his curse still shone faintly. The twins had fought side by side, covering each other's corners, Fred even taking on two Death Eaters at the same time. She honestly didn't know how they held on for so long, considering they were practically laughing and joking the entire time, all the while dodging jinxes and shouting off countless of their own. Hermione, having always thought of them as simple pranksters, hadn't even realized they had known so many. She just thought they were adept at making small spells, like those needed for their joke shop and the Skiving Snackboxes. It turned out there was a lot she didn't know.

Finally, when there actually weren't that many people left, they took their last jokes, Fred cut off mid-punch line. One of the Death Eaters—Bellatrix if she recalled correctly…she felt an insurmountable rage rise up through her entire body at the thought, and cast a careful, quick look at Sirius, who was so not knowing at this point how truly evil and sinister and uncaring his cousin could be—had come out from behind one of the duels of her own, leaving her opponent with someone else, and shot the _Avada Kedavra_ from her position. It hit Fred, the laughter and sardonic nature never quite leaving his face as he crumpled to the floor, red hair gleaming amidst the crimson liquid pooling in various spots on the grass that made up the battlefield. Hermione, Harry, and Ron's screams of terror as they caught the glimpse of what had happened from their own battles were nothing compared to that of George's. As he stared thunderstruck at what had just happened, the look of hatred and fearlessness was enough to even inspire a fleeting glimmer of fear in the black-hearted Bellatrix's face. Hermione herself was scared at George's look. She had never, _never _seen him look like that. He shot the _Sectumsempra _spell at her, and though she started to shoot a Shield Charm at him, it hit her chest with even more force than Hermione had thought the curse was worth. She fell to the ground, her face already deathly ashen, scarlet rivers flowing from the point where she spell hit her. She was dead within seconds. And despite the small personal pleasure that she knew she, and especially Harry, got from the death of Sirius's killer, Ron was frozen in shock. At that point, no one could tell which was greater—the fact that one of his closest brothers was now dead, or that his other brother had killed the murderer.

George had then walked over to Bellatrix's body, not caring that hexes and curses were flying all around him, a mix of purple, red, green, blue, and countless other colors indicating the numerous jinxes. Upon seeing her heavily lidded eyes open in surprise, he spat on her prone form with reckless abandon. "Bitch! He was my brother! He was my _brother_!" George had shouted, for everyone in the immediate vicinity to hear. "I hope you burn in hell, you worthless murderer!" As Hermione deflected another curse, she barely had time to yell out a warning to George, as she saw Rookwood hand off fighting Tonks to another nameless Death Eater, Tonks's hair having changed many colors during the battle, now currently in a furious shade of bloodred. As soon as she had shouted to George, he turned abruptly from Bellatrix's body to face Rookwood. George shot a Stun spell with formidable force towards his opponent, but Rookwood shielded himself from it, even though he flinched as some of its intensity bore through the defense. "What, scared of me?" George had taunted, fearlessly looking into Rookwood's masked eyes. "No! George, no!" Ron had yelled brokenly to his brother, having shot the Impediment Jinx at his current adversary, given a few precious moments to give an alert, though George appeared not to hear it. "Hardly," had been Rookwood's low, baleful response.

And then, just like Fred, the stream of jade light ceased George's life before he even had time to register—to Hermione and everyone else present's disgust, Rookwood laughed as if it had all been the funniest joke he'd ever heard, their deaths—although Hermione had had the sickening but inkling idea that George had almost wanted to die, too. She knew he and Fred had always just seemed like they were finely tuned partners-in-crime, but it now hit her hard that they were closer friends and brothers to each other than any other family member; once one twin had gone, it was only a matter of time before the other one was as well. As soon as George had fallen, ironically near to Fred's body, Hermione could hardly take Ron's beyond stricken and grief-infused expression. He had just stood there, so shocked and abysmally horrified—she had then had the feeling Fred and George were Ron's closest brothers as well, much as they taunted each other—that she had to Stun the faceless Death Eater she was entangled with, and run over to Ron. "Ron," she remembered gasping, the desperation all too evident. "Please...we can't lose you, too...I can't lose you, too..." He had gotten up and continued fighting like never before, but she hardly failed to notice there was a little less gleam in his eyes, and a little less meaning to his combating.

Hermione, through all the chaos, didn't even get to see what had happened to the rest of the Weasleys; who saw the twins' murders; what happened as such; were they even still _alive_? All Hermione knew, from Harry, was Ginny had fought miraculously well, killing at least one Death Eater, and wounding still more; he had, apparently, been keeping a lover's eye on her, in case she got into more trouble than she could handle. Even he didn't know when or how she had been killed; he had lost sight of her after an explosion from some joining of two curses had rocked her part of the battlefield, and all currently fighting coteries were thrown some good yards away and out of sight. Harry had wanted to run after her, but he was not only kept at bay with his attacker, but knew, even though it hurt him beyond belief, he had to keep going, no matter what. Ginny...possibly Hermione's best friend out of her female comrades. Tonks was a great friend, too, but Ginny had always been there for her, whereas Tonks was more of a recent friendship, much as she admired her and wished she got more of a chance to know the ostentatious Metamorphagus. Hermione didn't even want to think about Ginny's death...not until she had to...which was hopefully not soon.

Apparently, as Hermione was wrenched back to her present situation, no one had noticed her painful reverie, and, not wanting it to start, she blinked furiously, willing the oncoming tears to stop before they got worse. She didn't want to cause a scene. _Another _scene. Especially not now that James and Sirius had evidently renewed their friendship—the one that had started her fatal reminiscents, she realized with a pang—in the space of not even an hour. _Leave it to boys, _Hermione thought cynically. Mentally bracing herself against any more recallings, she turned back to the scene in front of her, focusing all her attentions to it.

"Okay, so fill me in," Lupin spoke up sarcastically. "Who are we friends with now? I have trouble keeping up."

Sirius and James looked to each other, both like they wanted to punch Remus right there, but the fact they were both thinking the same thing and willing to do so in each other's company was proof enough they had reconciled. Already. Nevertheless, due most likely only to the fact that Remus had been their friend since first year as well, they refrained. Or, as Hermione surmised on second thought, they just didn't want to lose one of their main sources of note copying. For Hermione got the rather, in her opinion accurate, sense that Remus was exactly like Hermione on her standards of copying. Meaning she disapproved of it in general, but would give in anyway when begging and flattery were in sufficient quantities.

Instead, James and Sirius both sat on either side of Remus, which, given the fact that Remus was currently sitting in not the biggest armchair, was made difficult. Hence that Remus was now looking rather mutinous, and Hermione guessed there were a few neurons in there that were seriously considering giving up on the two obnoxious specimens next to him. Despite this, though, she knew they'd never give up on each other. As she cast a furtive glance towards Peter again—her insides boiled and she longed to curse him again, but, miraculously, she held herself back—she wondered what it would have been like if Peter hadn't betrayed James and Lily, or even if Peter had never become friends with James, Sirius, Remus, and, by association, Lily. Would Harry's parents have died anyway? Would Lord Voldemort have come to such a high power? Hermione hated to dwell on "what if?"s, but sometimes she couldn't help herself. Now was one of those times.

"James Potter, Sirius Black, get the hell off of me or I swear you both to your graves you will regret it!" Remus managed threateningly, though his voice was substantially muffled by the two beings inhibiting his breathing.

"Oh, come off it, Moony," James said, laughing. "You know you love us."

Remus, possibly from his being slightly less massive than either Sirius or James, or perhaps from sheer struggling, managed to make his way out of their grips, them hitting heads rather brutally on the absence of a leaning surface. Remus suppressed quite poorly a laugh as he stared at the pair of them. He shook his head in disbelief, at them, and at himself.

"How did I _ever _get hijacked into becoming acquaintances with you two?" he asked helplessly, choosing the other armchair to sink down in, half-faking annoyance and exasperation.

Hermione, in a moment of subconsciously lowering her guard, let out a small snort of laughter, which she quickly turned into a cough, astounded at herself for what she had just done. For a moment, that simple action seemed almost more scandalous than making out with her dead best friend's father, who, in Hermione's time, was also deceased. And that was saying something. But Hermione's life, complicated? Never. That thought she almost let out another derisive noise, but stopped herself. She had had enough surprises for one day. Unfortunately, her—yes, even she had to admit it—laugh had alerted other people to her current habitation in their midst, and they turned to look at her, although they still had mirth written all over their youthful faces.

"Oh, that's _right,_" Sirius said, joy flitting into his face. A joy that Hermione got the feeling she wasn't about to like. "We haven't dealt with _you_ yet."

Hermione felt the sudden urge to either glue her eyesight to the floor or run out of the room, but found herself rooted quite firmly to the spot, eyes trained on Sirius. Glee was positively dancing between the overcast hues of his own, and while she had thought he was completely over his incensed annoyance, maybe she had miscalculated—a feat that scarce knew Hermione Granger was capable of. But there it was—another _mistake_. Anyone who knew Hermione knew she could hardly live with herself with one, unless it was one she had been breaking with Harry and Ron while going on some undoubtedly dangerous but also imperatively important mission. Now, on the other hand, was not one of those times. _Now_, it was an honest-to-goodness error. A burden that, at least in her opinion, rested firmly and unmoving on her shoulders.

"Sirius—" she started, and she got the feeling she sounded just about as eloquent as James had—that is to say, possessing no eloquence whatsoever.

"—please leave it," Remus finished, after taking one glance at Hermione's hardened but indubitably conflicted face.

Sirius switched subjects, and sky gray met with a metallic quicksilver, both trying to find weaknesses in the other, even in a matter as trivial as this. Finally, Sirius slumped back into the cushion, causing himself to hit heads with James yet again. And, of course, in precisely the same spot. Now, in addition to Remus's deftly placed punch on his arm, he had a swelling welt on the side of his head. While out of sight from the common onlooker, they were not the most attractive or wanted injuries. He felt that, at least, it should be something that could be made to sound heroic or filled with suspense. A bruised arm and head were far from wild, imaginative stories, even for the densest of minds. Sirius nearly sighed in depression at the thought, but he was preoccupied with the mounting pain from his crash with James and at the so obvious uncomfortableness Hermione was exhibiting. He hadn't noticed it at first, to be honest, but apparently Remus had. Very quickly, in fact. That werewolf always seemed to have something to bewilder him. Perhaps, he had the sudden epiphany, he ought to start, as they say, to expect the unexpected.

For, as this day and the few preceding it had shown, the expected was far, far from being the highlight of the times.

* * *

Right now I should probably be spewing apologies again, but I daresay you've gotten sick of them, so instead I'll just go to the thanks: 

Fairysky, Harpiebird, harry'n'mione4ever, The Almighty Cheez It, and Sivaroobini Lupin-Black. I love you all. Keep writing and thanks again!


	11. Judgment

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Eleven: Judgment_

* * *

"Moony, you suck." 

"Oh, why thank you, Padfoot," Remus said sarcastically, to his friend's loosely meant insult.

It was later that night, and they had stayed in the Common Room after James, Peter, Hermione, and the other Gryffindor stragglers had left for bed, some of which were not of their own accord, but of Sirius's glares and intent to curse them all if they didn't leave. Remus, of course, silently disapproved of this and yelled at himself for letting Sirius get away with all of it, especially since Remus was supposed to be more of the authority figure, but he couldn't help and be a bit amused by it. Much as he sometimes hated to admit, Sirius did have a way with charming people, whether teachers, friends, or future romantic prospects.

The fact that he was incredibly intelligent didn't help either, because the condescending remark that he was all brawn and no brain didn't apply in this case. Even the professors were forced to concede and not only give Sirius full marks on the papers (when he turned them in, that is), and tests, but also to be coerced into giving his house points or commending him, if nothing else than to not be unfair in their policies of compliments. Sirius, obviously, relished in these and used them to his advantage in more than one situation. He was an arrogant, conceited troublemaker, yes, but he was a _brilliant_, arrogant, conceited troublemaker. Which possibly explained why Remus didn't have the heart to reprimand him, especially in an instance where he didn't do any physical harm to people. Plus, no one listened to Remus when he tried to usher them out; at least Sirius's brusque methods were effective.

Remus sighed, looking at Sirius, who was giving him the expression that he wanted Remus to ask him a certain question. "And why, pray tell, do I, as you so eloquently put it, suck?"

Sirius smiled, the grin that launched a thousand relationships, nearly all ending in crying and slaps from his now ex-girlfriends, telling Remus that Sirius was pleased with Remus's "wanting" to know why Sirius semi-contemptuously addressed him. "Because," he began with unnecessary flourish, "you didn't let me berate Prongs, or Granger for that matter, practically at all. It's so unfair. I hate you."

Remus held back a laugh. The last time Sirius had "meant" that was approximately two weeks ago, and three minutes after he said it, he was back to normal again. As was evident by his somewhat reluctant renewed friendship with James, holding grudges for a long time was like not being able to hold his liquor. Basically, not for an elapsed period of time. Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus, trying to speculate why Remus either hadn't answered, had a look that mimicked mirth and remembrance, or both at the same time.

"I'm sure you do," Remus said conversationally. "As for not 'letting' you condescend Prongs any more, it was only to prevent a full-on war going on between you two. Between the smartest students in this school, you would blow apart this institution if even your simplest spells hit each other. Like I'd take that chance? I value my life, thank you very much."

It seemed Sirius ignored Remus's last lines. "Why, Moony, you flatter me so!" he said, putting his hand to his chest in mock-embarrassment.

"Yeah, cause you don't get enough of that with the entire female population swooning over you every time you pass through the halls," Remus said sardonically.

"You know," Sirius injected thoughtfully. "I _did _experience that new woman, Professor Circe, hitting on me earlier today. It was quite odd."

"Sirius, do you never stop?" Lupin asked, then rectified before Sirius could answer with a very smarmy, unwanted reply. "Rhetorical question."

"All right, Moony, enough with the big words. You know I can't handle them," Sirius replied, faking a look of confusion, though Remus knew he understood full well practically any word thrown at him. Which made him all the more infuriating.

Remus, deciding this discussion was going nowhere fast or important, changed subjects, though he braced himself for the reaction he was about to get. " Is it even _possible_, Padfoot, that you'll just forget this by morning? Besides, I thought you'd forgiven James?" Remus questioned, expecting the gawked look on Sirius's face, telling him it wasn't likely. "I mean, come on. He's already humiliated enough as it is, and probably cursing himself as we speak for making out with Hermione, when everyone knows he's head-over-heels for Lily. Why can't you just accept that he's trying to atone for that, and your constant shouting profanities and insults at him for doing so isn't going to help?"

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, seemingly thinking of a better response. "You know that was just a covering, Moony. To get out of there quicker," he sighed. "And to answer your other question, it's just because…" he started after a few moments' silence, voice more reserved, much to Remus's now attentiveness. It was times like these, when Sirius turned his words all sobered and without his usual drenching of sarcasm and joking that Remus realized why especially he and James had stuck with Sirius and Sirius's antics for so long. He was an incorrigible prankster most of the time, but he had his moments where he could get people to take him seriously, and he was actually true about it. Now was one of those times, and thus Remus's undivided listening. "Because I can't, all right? Because I feel my best friend has truly gone off the deep end this time! Is the James Michael Potter _you _know someone who'd just start sticking his tongue down a girl's throat days after she just…_appeared_? For Merlin's sake, he hasn't even gotten close to kissing Lily, and he's been on about her ever since the first day of school! And now this new girl comes in from no one still knows where or how, and he's already making out with her! He's just changed is all. And I'd like to know what happened, if that's sanctioned by you, dear Moony. And if yelling at him for being a stupid, naïve berk will knock some sense into him, then damn it, I'm going to do so!"

Remus sighed again—he'd been doing a lot of that lately—and studied Sirius's angry but dismayed and sorrowful-looking face. It had lost all its usual caustically handsome luster, and was replaced by something that made you pity him, despite all his faults and annoying habits. Sirius moved his head to rest on his hands, unceremoniously brushing his hair out of his face, stormy eyes flickering, then turned to face the fire. Remus stared at his friend, the flickering flames dancing over his face, wondering once again what went on in that brain of his.

Truth was, Remus was quite perplexed with James's behavior as well. Wasn't it just the night before that James said he'd kissed Lily? That Lily agreed to go out with him? If it were Sirius who mimicked James's actions, Remus probably wouldn't bat an eye, for that was simply what Sirius did. But James, unlike what a lot of people thought, was more reserved in that respect, and didn't just jump from girl to girl, especially when one of them was his proclaimed soulmate. And so in one of those rare times, Sirius did have a point; a _reputable _point. The scarier part was that Remus had been thinking along those same lines, which, when the both of them had similar, logical thoughts, it was a rarity in and of itself.

"Well," Remus began slowly when he figured Sirius was done talking for the moment,

"Yeah," Sirius said, voice saturated with dejection and betrayal. "I guess."

Remus sighed. Sirius was practically never like this, but when he was, it was almost heartbreaking to watch. Sirius and legitimate emotional distress hardly ever went together. "Padfoot—"

"I'm going to bed," Sirius said suddenly, standing up from the chair, staring into the fire for a few moments, before blinking a few times and then looking back at his friend. "'Night, Remus."

Remus looked up at him strangely; Sirius _never _called him by his first name unless something was seriously wrong. In fact, Remus could only recall one other time, a few years ago, when Narcissa had joined Hogwarts, completing the "Evil Triumvirate", as Sirius so blithely put it; she, Regulus, and Bellatrix had all been inducted into Slytherin, and it pierced Sirius. He had never really liked his cousins, or even his brother—Narcissa had been all right compared to Bellatrix, yes, but she was still malevolent and was a remembrance of the home he hated—but that didn't mean he still hadn't felt a hurting strain upon him. He had been the only Black to be in Gryffindor for his entire family history, and so having Narcissa, the last Black, be Sorted into the satanic house, he hadn't wanted to believe it. He and Remus had talked, and that was when Sirius had used his first name, a habit Remus realized would only be bought about again under extreme emotional pain.

Now was one of those times.

"Sirius, you know James wouldn't sacrifice your friendship for anything, don't you?" Remus tried again at Sirius's retreating figure.

Sirius hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, but then, with a heavy sigh, entered the dormitory, the door shutting quietly behind him. Remus turned to the fire, as Sirius had done a few minutes ago, so intently as though he was trying to find all the answers there. Sometimes it sucked being the mediator all the time, especially when it mattered not what he said. Sirius and James were both severely caught up in their own determination and thoughts, that sometimes it took a grueling effort on Remus's—and, occasionally, Lily's as well—part to even get them to admit that maybe they were a little harsh on each other. Remus only hoped this time wouldn't be the one instance that would break the bond.

* * *

"Padfoot. Padfoot!" 

Sirius groaned, swatting away the voice. "Not yet…'s morning...'M tired…" he mumbled, pulling a pillow over his head.

He felt a blast of cold water pour over his body and jerked awake, sopping wet. "What the hell was that—" he started, then dropped his shoulders, seeing who the speaker was. "—for…What do you want?"

James's face fell slightly as he dropped the pillow onto Sirius's lap. "Padfoot, come on. You can't stay mad at me," James said, a tone of resignation presiding.

"Oh yeah? Why the hell not?" Sirius sniped acidly.

"Because you're my best friend, damn it, and if you don't talk to me, I'll have nothing left to live for except to wallow in the dark abyss that will be my heart, never to be happy again…" James embellished, mocking misery.

The corners of Sirius's mouth twitched, and he was a fraction of an inch from a grin, before he caught himself and glared at James. "So how's Lily, genius? You realize it's your date today," Sirius smirked.

James blanched slightly at this, grimacing. "I know," he said, unnaturally quiet. Sirius frowned. "Do you know where she is?"

"How should I know?" Sirius said. "Probably at breakfast. Moony might know."

"Yeah, most likely," James concurred, sitting down at the foot of Sirius's bed, moving Sirius's feet ungracefully away from him. Sirius scowled, but shifted his position anyway. James looked Sirius straight in his eyes, and Sirius sat up further. "Padfoot, I'm sorry. I still don't think it should be as big a deal as you're making it, but for what it's worth, it probably won't ever happen again. It was a lack of good judgment on my part, and even though Lily and I aren't really together, you're right; it's not fair. And I've been kicking myself over it, too; I mean, what the hell was I thinking? We don't even know Hermione and I was…well…you know. I'm not sure what made me do it, but I acknowledge that I did so, and although I'm still uncertain as to why I owe you an apology, I'll do it anyway. Nothing could ever come between our friendship, I hope you realize that. Not Lily, not Hermione, hell, not even Moony. Forgive me?"

Sirius stared for a second, before breaking into a smile, sitting up straighter, then reaching over and smacking James on his head. "You idiot," Sirius said acerbically. "You're a ass, but, if you must, you're forgiven. Provided you don't do something ass ill-thought out and stupid as this again. Got it?"

James grinned, not even berating Sirius for hitting him. "Yeah," he said firmly. "Now would you get your lazy ass out of bed? I'm starving."

"That makes two of us," Sirius agreed, extricating himself from the covers and pulling the comforter back fast enough that James hit his head on the bedpost and then fell down. He glared at Sirius, but for all the insincerity, he might as well have been grinning. Sirius sighed jadedly, but got dressed quickly and left the dormitories, stomach growling as loud as James's.

* * *

"Hey. How are you all this lovely morning?" James said, addressing the usual group as he and Sirius sat down at the Gryffindor table. 

Lily, Remus, Hermione, and even Peter all stared at the two, wondering exactly what had happened, considering last night, Sirius had been sullen and dejected and now he and James were as joking and close as they used to be. Remus had a self-satisfied look on his face as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice; Peter simply looked confused; Lily's expression was indecipherable; and Hermione's was plain stoic, as it usually was, although she spent an extra second on James's expression, who was busy piling his plate with as much food as it would allow.

"Well, you seem all better, Sirius," Lily said pleasantly, her customary half-condescending tone still present, but not exactly scolding him. Judging by her use of his first name, she wasn't too annoyed with him yet. "Any reason for the change?"

Sirius grinned ridiculously at her, not bothering to finish chewing whatever food item was currently stuffed in his mouth. "Not really, Evans," he said. While he would occasionally call Lily by her own first name, he never did when in her actual presence. Why, he wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't about to break the habit. "Maturity, of course. You've underestimated me."

Lily snorted. "Yeah, right," she said playfully. "The day you stop being an ignorant, joking prat, Sirius Black, I think I just might die of shock. And since I don't plan on becoming deceased any time soon, I'd suggest you just shut that mouth right now."

Hermione stared between the two, almost enjoying their banter. "He will in about five years…" Hermione murmured.

The four other members of their little coterie stared immediately at her, all having deep frowns on their faces, wondering what in the world she was talking about. "What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius asked laughingly.

"Prison…" Hermione muttered again, not realizing for the moment that saying that was probably one of the worst things she could do.

They all gazed at her for a few moments before bursting out with laughter. "Sirius? Prison?" Remus asked mockingly, looking at Hermione, who was far from cracking up. "That'll be the day…"

"Hermione, you know we all adore you, but that's a little crazy," Lily said, and though Hermione thought it was a bit much to think that they all "adored" her, she said nothing, her face as stony as ever. "Sirius may seem on the verge of getting authorities involved, but prison? That's pretty far out there."

"Why Lily, you flatter me so!" Sirius said, putting a hand to his chest. She glared at him, Sirius letting out an involuntary flinch at the intensity of it.

"Oh, don't get ahead of yourself, Black," Lily retorted, and Sirius frowned falsely at her returning to the usage of his surname. "Despite your notable intelligence sometimes, the time I actually flatter you, I'll flatter Peter. No offense, Pettigrew, but you're—er—not the—I mean…"

"He's a demented, slow, stupid asshole who doesn't deserve your kindness," Hermione injected, staring at Peter.

Lily blushed, but didn't say anything. "Why do you hate me?" Peter said suddenly, narrowed eyes in Hermione's direction.

Hermione's breaths turned deep and seething, and her hand gripped white-knuckled around her wand, ready to perform the first debilitating spell she could think of, but seeing as how she was in the Great Hall with the majority of the school, not to mention Lily, James and Sirius, she refrained, albeit with great restraint. She clenched her teeth so hard it felt they were going to fracture, before getting up from the table, knocking her plate off balance, and storming out of the Hall, her furiousness palpable, leaving a trail of hatred behind her. She didn't have to see them to know that Sirius, James, and Lily all exchanged confused and worried glances.

Once out of the confines of the Hall, the doors shutting behind her, Hermione collapsed against the wall in a shadowed corner, out enough of the way so it would be difficult for the casual passerby to see her. She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling sobs coming on as she buried her head close to her legs, her vision starting to blur, her brain starting to go on overdrive again.

Being around the people that she had known to die, had heard about, read about, got to her so badly she wanted to just keel over right there. She felt like she was going insane; that this was all some sort of weird, twisted dream. She couldn't believe she'd talked to them, hung out with them, joked with them, when she knew them to be fully dead. More than that, she felt guilty. She got the chance to see and have conversations with the people that Harry had been so longing to see and hadn't spent hardly any time with. She'd talked to his parents, whom he had always been desperate to even just see one more time; she'd conversed with Sirius, Harry's future godfather, like nothing had changed; she'd gotten advice from and divulged her biggest secret to Remus, her professor-to-be. She just wished she could share this with Harry. With Ron.

She didn't hear footsteps come up to her until they were accompanied by words, and, her knees still to her chest, she looked up, her brown eyes meeting his gray ones. "What do you want?" she asked softly.

"You're insane," Sirius said bluntly, sitting against a statue, who grunted in indignity but let Sirius stay there anyway. "You know, I'd really like to find out what goes on in those synapses of yours to see what in the hell you spew sometimes. It's maddening."

"You have no idea," Hermione mumbled, and Sirius sighed.

"That's what I'm talking about," he continued, only a shade of annoyance in his voice. It was calmer and deeper than she'd heard it before, and she almost would have described it as mature, in spite of the discussion they'd all had only moments ago. "Is there any chance you'll ever tell any one of us your big, deep, dark secret? Or are we just supposed to sit here and pretend like you have nothing to hide? Why can't you just tell us? What's the huge deal?"

Hermione opened her mouth to give him some acidic remark, but then closed her mouth, not breaking his gaze. For one instant, she thought she saw the mask of the Sirius she had known from years before, which possibly was the one spurring factor for her. It had returned to its usual playful visage, but his eyes stayed the same. That was one thing she'd noticed—despite all the other differences; the filled out face, the non-skull-like face, the happiness; his eyes still held odd wisdom and caring.

"I can't," she said simply. "Besides, you wouldn't believe me even if I did tell you."

"Try me," Sirius said, and Hermione shook her head in misery.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," she replied quietly, her voice sincere. "Trust me; even for you, it's not something you'd believe. You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already think you're crazy, Granger," he said with a laugh. "What could possibly make my opinion heighten? You're not a guy are you?"

Her mouth curved into a smile, the first real smile she'd had for a very long time, and even though Sirius's comment was quite uncalled for, for some reason she found the lighthearted tone reassuring. "No, I'm not a guy, Sirius," she replied levelly. "I'm—I'm from far away, let's put it that way."

"Yeah," Sirius said. "First of all, that's total bullshit and I won't accept that answer, and secondly, if that really was your massive secret, it's hardly something I wouldn't believe. Try again."

Hermione couldn't help the distinctly surreal feeling she got. She was talking to Sirius. Sirius Black. Harry's deceased godfather, killed by his cousin, who now was quite a bit younger. It was enough to make even her head spin. And while she knew she wasn't as open as perhaps some people would think—Luna sprung to mind about things like the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which Hermione felt immensely depressed to remember—but she did know that it would normally be a sign of mind-losing in this situation. Nevertheless, much as she almost wished she could deny it, she was indeed making conversation with him, whether she wanted to or not.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," she said softly, practically more in sorrow that she couldn't do anything to save him from early death even though she was unconscious at the time in the Department of Mysteries than in apology for not telling him her secret. "I just can't. I just can't tell any more people. I mean, Dumbledore is one thing, and then Rem—" she stopped, eyes widening.

She hoped Sirius hadn't caught it, but by the slightly surprised and annoyed, yet smugger look on his face, her hopes were dashed spectacularly. "You told Moony?" Sirius said incredulously. "You told Moony and not me or Prongs? What sort of deranged logic is that? That's not fair, Granger!"

"Life isn't fair, Sirius," Hermione said flatly. She wished she could take what she said back, but now Sirius knew, there was nothing she could do. Obliviate was possibly the worst choice she could think of, considering people would notice Sirius's rapid mood change. "Besides," she continued slowly, "even if you knew, there's not one thing you could help with. It's something beyond your control or ideas."

"Oh, really?" Sirius said dubiously, crossing his arms and sitting down farther upon the statue. His demeanor turned calculating, and she felt uncomfortable at the shrewd gaze he had on her, like he was reading her mind quite well. "You know, I don't think it's as much you think I won't believe it, but you just are a stubborn stranger and you don't want help from anyone. You just want to figure whatever it is out on your own, even though you probably know full well you're not able to. What I want to know is why you think that; you have numerous magical people at your disposal, Evans, Prongs, Moony, Wormtail, and me for starters, and yet you're resisting. It's a stupid thing to do if you think about it."

Hermione pursed her lips, mainly because there was complete truth in what he said. She hadn't known he could be so astute. She sighed heavily. "You're right," she said finally, and Sirius smirked. "But that doesn't mean I can indulge you with it. Maybe some time you'll figure it out on your own, but for now you'll just have to deal with it."

She made to get up and leave, where she wasn't sure, but Sirius, with remarkable reflexes, grabbed her arm, pulling her back down, closer to him. For a moment, she almost thought he was going to kiss her, but he merely released her slowly enough so he could make sure she wasn't going to leave again, and she surrendered. Her curiosity usually won out in the end, anyway.

"Why can't you just tell me?" he asked after minutes that seemed to drag on forever. "What are you afraid of? What could I possibly do that would endanger you? Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a brainless lunatic who'll gossip endlessly. What have I done to earn your mistrust?"

She weighed her answer, realizing there was no good response to this, as the ones she foolishly went through made no sense at all. He had her trapped, and they both knew it well. "I—I'm from the—"

"Padfoot! Granger! We wondered where you'd gotten off to! What are you doing down there?" James's voice floated down, his hazel eyes switching between the two of them, something flickering Hermione couldn't quite place.

Sirius looked thoroughly annoyed at the interruption, but Hermione was internally thankful. She knew Sirius would decipher it eventually, but for now, she was safe. Lily frowned, joining in James's scrutinizing of them. "Yeah," she furthered. "What have you been doing?"

There was a suggestive tone in her voice, one Hermione, and, judging by Sirius's disgusted-sounding grunt, didn't appreciate. "Oh, please," Sirius said, standing up. "She's not my type."

Hermione thought she should be somewhat offended at his statement, but she couldn't muster up the feeling. She hadn't realized she was still sitting on the ground until a hand reached down to her. "Way to be chivalrous, Padfoot," James said sardonically. Sirius rolled his eyes, but mumbled a half-hearted apology, which Hermione smiled at. "Here. Need help?"

Hermione didn't, but she accepted James's proffered hand despite it all. It was warm against her constantly chilled hand, which she was grateful for. While certain parts of the castle were at a comfortable temperature, a lot of it, the Entrance Hall included, were rather glacial. He pulled her up with frustrating ease, and when he finally let go of her hand, she found herself strangely disappointed, whether for the renewed coldness or something else. She shivered, an action that had nothing to do with the chill.

Silence went around the six, awkwardness threatening to overtake them, Hermione cursing this being the one time James and Sirius were actually silent. When the soundlessness approached being unbearable, someone finally disrupted it, muffled slightly from the distance it came from the group. The stern voice was familiar to Hermione, and with a jolt of suppressing, heartwrenching strain, Hermione recognized the uptight bun, the rimmed spectacles, the dark emerald robes, seeing a twenty-year-younger Professor McGonagall. Calling out a reminder for all those who were going to Hogsmeade to go to her and confirm their permission forms were still in effect, Hermione relaxed a bit.

"Finally!" Sirius exclaimed obnoxiously, sprinting over to McGonagall with the absurd joviality of a four-year-old. Hermione laughed quietly to herself, no one but James and Remus noticing. Hermione cleared her throat, somewhat embarrassed.

"Oi! Wait up, Padfoot!" James cried, running after his friend, reaching Sirius in a matter of three seconds. Hermione marveled at that ability—she was one of the worst runners she'd known, even in the midst of the Final Battle.

Lily snickered beside Hermione, a small blush rising in her cheeks. Hermione couldn't see why, but Lily never really failed to surprise her. Remus shook his head in laughing disbelief, but, accompanied by Lily and Hermione, walked after James and Sirius, taking longer to reach them, but getting there steadily nonetheless. Peter, apparently not having seeing them all leave right away, scurried after them, for some ridiculous reason panting as he caught up.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, please contain yourselves before you get another detention!" Professor McGonagall said exasperatedly at Sirius and James's excited faces, although Hermione swore she saw a smile tugging at her thin lips. Taking into account the difficulty it was to produce amusement in the strict professor, Hermione found it amazing that they could do so. She shook herself out of it before she could go any further with that assessment.

"Ready, Lils?" James said, grinning wildly as he looked to the redhead, she having just made sure Professor McGonagall had her form.

"Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so," Lily said, red coming into her cheeks even more, then she got a perturbed glint in her eyes, turning to James again. "And _don't _call me Lils."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter having also gotten confirmed, they started to depart, before Lily realized with a start that Hermione wasn't with them anymore. Lily turned around, her red hair flipping over her shoulder, and she looked at Hermione with confusion. Shrugging off James's fourth attempt to put his arm around her waist, she walked over to Hermione, the rest following her with reluctance.

"Hermione, aren't you coming?" Lily asked, concern decorating her soft voice.

"No…" Hermione mumbled. Truth was, even if she did have a permission slip, she wasn't sure she'd want to go. Hogsmeade would only be another place to remind her of Harry and Ron, something she didn't want to do. It would just be too painful. "No, I'm staying."

"The hell you are!" Sirius injected, failing miserably to sound angry. He pranced over to her, putting an arm across her shoulders. She tensed, but didn't have the energy to tell him to get away or she'd hex him senseless. "Come on, Granger, you can come with me. It'll be a _date_."

He was joking erratically, she could tell that in a matter of a fraction of a second, but she suppressed a grin anyway. "Yeah, cause that's my biggest desire," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Lily sniggered, Sirius looked exaggeratedly affronted by what she said, James and Remus smirked, and Peter looked, as usual, inattentive. "Hey, now," Sirius said, faking seriousness. "I just might take that personally."

"You never take anything seriously, Sirius," Lily retorted, mirth in her foresty eyes. "You and sarcasm are indistinguishable from each other."

"Firstly, just because my name is similar to an everyday word, it doesn't mean you can go full out with the alliterations," he said. "And as for your endearing sarcasm comment, I take full responsibility for it. I relish in it, dear Evans. So if that was meant to be an insult, you might have to come up with something different next time."

"Is it even possible for you to _consider _humbling yourself?" Lily asked with exasperation.

"Nope," Sirius said simply.

"Well if you're done flirting, then can we get out of here? The rate you're going, all the shops will be closed by the time we finally get there," Remus injected testily.

She'd gotten the desired effect—James looked livid, Sirius and Lily looked slightly embarrassed, but Hermione and Peter didn't have much of a reaction. "Yeah, yeah, calm down, Moony," Sirius said wearily.

Hermione, realizing that even with her magical prowess and resistance, she would never get them to back down, sighed with unwavering resignation, letting Sirius steer her towards the doors, Lily and James, Remus, and Peter following. Hermione had to practically pinch herself to acknowledge that this was actually happening. She was going to Hogwarts with people that were quite dead in her time. She was going on a hypothetical date with Harry's seventeen-year-old godfather. She could handle an indefinite amount of tragedies and shocks, but this she started to get doubts on. She looked skyward at the graying atmosphere, saying a silent prayer to herself, wishing herself she wouldn't go down in flames by the end of the day.

* * *

Having lost sight of the rest of the Hogsmeade group a long time ago, the sextet were now meandering rather haphazardly through the crooked streets of the familiar town, no particular path taken. Hermione had had to endure many shops she'd been to infinite times before, everyone except Remus and James (though the latter didn't show it) thinking that she hadn't seen them. He had cast her furtive sympathetic glances every now and then, but he and she knew very well that when it came to adamancy, James and Sirius were irrepressible, and if they wanted to pull her kicking and screaming somewhere, they'd find a way to do it, no matter the circumstance. 

Lily, remarkably, hadn't lashed out much the entire time, save for a few reprimands to James or Sirius, but they were almost half-hearted, and for all they listened, she might have been talking to a brick wall. And so she'd given up after the first couple, deciding smartly that she'd save them for later. She and Hermione had suggested a few times that they go off and do something, to leave Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter to do their own misbehaving exploits, but that had about as much effect as Lily's scolding. All it did was make James hold on to Lily firmer, likewise for Sirius with Hermione. She hadn't minded too much at first, knowing Sirius was just being frustrating, but now she just wanted him to let her go. She was now simply wishing she could wander off by herself, not necessarily with Lily accompanying her.

She had considered Apparating as well, seeing if that could get her away from the rest of them, but she swiftly realized that with Sirius holding onto her, he'd be enacting an unwanted Side-Along Apparition, which she wasn't looking forward to. So, for the time being, she was stuck with the Marauders and Lily. And while it was, she had to admit, entertaining at times, for every moment she was there, her heart broke more. She had to fight with all her strength to stop the memories from flooding her, from when Harry had sneaked into the village using, ironically, the Marauders' Map, to the last time they had—using Ariana's portrait to get into Hogwarts.

Finally, after many, many shops and purchases, they stopped in The Three Broomsticks to warm up—it was frigid outside, the weather deciding to be manipulative and cruel, turning the air into ice—and let James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter discuss what they'd bought and what they'd do with them. Immediately, James and Sirius had started trying to charm Madam Rosmerta, which was another thing making Hermione's head spin. She had heard in third year of them making the bartender laugh, and here they were, doing exactly that. It was just too weird. After a little annoyance, Madam Rosmerta gave in and she found amusement in them, when eventually Remus interrupted, irascibly imploring that she take their orders.

She chuckled at him, but then Conjured a pen and paper, addressing each in turn. "That'll be...one, two, three, four, five butterbeers, and—" Sirius stopped, waiting for Hermione's order. The others had been satisfied with his making choices for them, but Hermione stalled.

"Firewhiskey," Hermione said miserably, and right away they, including Madam Rosmerta, didn't hesitate to stare incredulously at her.

Judging by Madam Rosmerta's subtle glance in James and Sirius's direction, they'd tried the same thing a few times, but none had expected this order from Hermione. True, in normal situations, she wouldn't have even thought of drinking such ridiculously strong alcohol, but then, this was hardly ordinary. Hermione ignored their looks, and instead tapped her fingers.

Madam Rosmerta snapped out of her disbelief. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to get something else. You're not old enough to—"

"I'm seventeen." Hermione said plainly. "I'm an adult, therefore I can order whatever the hell I want."

They all switched from staring at Hermione to looking at Madam Rosmerta, who was obviously thinking over Hermione's words. Apparently, there was truth in Hermione's claim that even Madam Rosmerta couldn't completely deny. "You're in Hogwarts; I'm not allowed to serve students liquor," she persisted.

"Who says I'm in Hogwarts?" Hermione retorted.

Sirius looked like he was about to refute her, but then seemed pensive. Hermione was right again. Technically, she wasn't a student there. "You're not a student? " Madam Rosmerta said, dubiously surprised.

"No. I'm not," Hermione continued, trying to repress her annoyance. Why couldn't she take a hint?

Madam Rosmerta turned to the rest of the group, as if repudiating what Hermione said. Nobody uttered a sound, although Hermione saw peripherally Remus giving her another look. She wished he wouldn't. "Well, I suppose so, then," Madam Rosmerta said finally, clearly disconcerted. "Five butterbeers and a...firewhiskey."

"Thank you," Hermione snapped. The rest mumbled their own thanks, and Madam Rosmerta sashayed off to fill their requests. "Would you all stop _staring _at me?"

Lily and Remus softened their looks, but Sirius, James, and Peter continued their gaping. "This is so not fair," Sirius whined. Remus raised an eyebrow. "Life sucks. _She _gets to order alcohol and we don't? Someone up there hates me."

"Padfoot, stop complaining," James said. Sirius narrowed his eyes. "She's right—she's not a student, and so she can, by technical law, order whichever drink she wishes."

Sirius didn't contradict this, although Hermione thought James's statement, while somewhat appreciated, was quite unnecessary. Sirius didn't need a reminder of the ins and outs of the rules. He was just grousing mildly, and Hermione didn't think it required James to attempt to controvert him.

"I don't need your protection, Potter," Hermione retaliated.

James took a minute to absorb this, then his face turned gelid. "Fine," he said icily, before his expression morphed into one of a smirking underhandedness. "But you do owe me an explanation, Granger. "

This was such an unexpected change that Hermione was caught off-guard for a moment. What explanation? She didn't owe him anything as far as she was concerned. "You didn't tell me all about this Harry guy."

Hermione blanched at the casual, indifferent mention of Harry. Her hands turned to fists at her sides. "I told you all you deserve," she said coldly.

"No you didn't," he said. "You told me his full name. " Hermione felt a trickle down her spine, but didn't say anything. "'Harry James Potter', I believe is what you said. Now, since I'm not aware of any other James Potters, and considering you're..._specialness _...I'm pretty sure I'm deserving of a better clarification."

Hermione turned white at this. She vaguely remembered telling him that, but now she was literally shooting herself internally for doing so. She'd had a lack of sense, but that didn't excuse herself. _What had she done this time? _Kissing James was bad enough, but had she really just painted herself into a swallowing corner? Had he surmised anything influential from what she had said? Her face remaining colorless, she exchanged a quick look with Remus, who had a flicker of the same horror as Hermione had. She knew she hadn't told him about Harry's middle name, but she could see that he inferred too much, and by doing so, realized the vastly detrimental effect Hermione's explanation could have.

"James—" Remus started, in an effort to cut him off before this could get truly nasty.

James waved a hand at him, keeping his multicolored eyes on Hermione. She took a shaking breath. "It—It means nothing," she said, instantly noticing how lame and untrue it sounded.

James laughed. "Yeah, right," he said. Hermione didn't fail to observe the lack of speech from Sirius, and saw that he seemed quite unnervingly intrigued with this new set of events, making this all the worse. "Come on, Granger, let's have it."

Considering she'd already told him she was from the future, she didn't see how he could think that she could answer something like this. On the other hand, she also didn't know why, with his brains, he could not guess what Harry's name meant. He was right—James Potter wasn't the most common name, let alone for a boy around two decades succeeding. This just discomfited Hermione further.

She could see no way out of this. Through all her strategies, through all her thoughts, she couldn't see how she'd survive this. "Harry is—Harry's your—yours and her s—"

"Here you are," Madam Rosmerta interrupted, Hermione almost disbelieving at how good the timing was. She wondered if this was some sort of karmic happening, even though she wasn't too much of a supporter of the whole divine order thing. Maybe the cosmos felt she was warranted for some solace after all. "There's your butterbeers and your firewhiskey."

Hermione couldn't contain her relief, and as she looked over at Remus again, she saw him lean back in his chair, a semblance of his own liberation evident. "I've—I've got to go. Thanks for the drink, Rosmerta."

This time, only Remus seemed okay with her leaving; even Lily seemed perturbed, but Hermione didn't care. She had to get out, or she'd completely demolish Harry's future. She couldn't even imagine what James, let alone Lily, would say if she actually told them Harry was their son. First, she assumed, they'd laugh and think she was crazy, and then they would be so in denial they'd never get to make Harry's existence. Which was a risk Hermione wouldn't take, no matter the cost.

"Hermione! Get back here!" she heard James shout after her, but she was already out the doors.

When she got a good distance from the so familiar building, she took a shaking breath, downing a fair amount of her drink, coughing slightly at the hugely burning sensation running down her throat. Unfortunately, it didn't do much to distract her from her position. She had gotten away for now, but she knew this wasn't the end of it. For the first time since she originally arrived here, she didn't have one idea of what to do. She'd backed herself into an irreparable predicament, and there was no way James would let her get away with it. She had to escape. She couldn't stay here. All her remaining in this time was screwing up everyone's lives, and if she resided here any longer, she would distort everything even more.

Closing her eyes, feeling the biting wind whip around her, strangely comforting, she concentrated on the one place she knew no one could reach her. No one except herself could enter, and she'd be safe there until she could come up with a solution. Not even the genius of James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, or even Dumbledore could penetrate those particular defenses her destination could provide.

* * *

So I included an opening for some James-Hermione angst/romance stuff with the Harry innuendos, and another place Hermione can hide. I know it's moving kind of slow, but it'll pick up in a little bit. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks to: 

RannayBabiiex3, cRiMsOnGoDdEsS01, lyn18, and Sivaroobini Lupin-Black.


	12. Desertions

**(A/N: Later on there will be a little bit of **_**Deathly Hallows **_**spoilers, so if you haven't read the book, then just look for my note, which will tell you when they are.)**

* * *

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Twelve: Desertions_

* * *

"Damn it!" James said angrily, banging his fists in earnest upon the table he had recently rejoined. "Why can't she just be straight for once? All the lies and secrets you never know what's real!" 

Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, decided to input his opinion, obnoxious as it was. "Mate, give it up," he said solemnly. "Not only is she impossible for _anyone _to figure out, but trying to decode what goes on in the minds of the female species is just futile. Simple as that. They're a completely different brand of existence and we'll hurt our brains if we try and decrypt it."

Lily, obviously, found this quite offensive. "Yeah? And what brains would those be, Black?" she said viciously.

Sirius pretended to pout, and, owing to the constant good looks that even Lily had to admit to, her stony fury towards him dissipated slightly—though barely noticeably, of course—against her better judgment. "Aw, come on, Lily," Sirius said, quite immaturely. "You know you can't resist me when I'm sad. And since when did I lose my name? There's nothing hugely wrong with 'Sirius', believe it or not."

James's hands twitched for a moment in jealously, before he realized Sirius was, per usual, trying to annoy the both of them. Needless to say, it was working. "Think again, _Black_," Lily emphasized firmly. "First name basis is a privilege. One which you especially can lose on a moment's notice."

"Well, you know what, Evans?" Sirius retorted childishly. "You don't get to be let into our awesome Marauders club then."

Lily laughed out loud, unable to control herself. "Like I'd want to? No, thank you," she said.

"Well I'm glad you're all having _fun _over there," Remus interrupted somewhat irritably from across the table, arms folded over his chest.

He wasn't sure whether it was Hermione's abrupt departure or some inner vexation of his own, but he was, in fact, annoyed. Lily, Sirius, and James turned to look at him curiously, honestly surprised that Remus had a somewhat angry look on his usually docile face. Truth was, Remus didn't have a solid idea as to Hermione's so unexplained leaving, and he was wondering where in the hell she had gone. And why James's statement bothered her so much. After all, she'd agreed to go to Hogsmeade with them, and so if she had some internal qualm with one of them, she wouldn't have gone in the first place. Which led him to believe that either James was really on to something with what he said or it simply reminded Hermione of some horror in her past. Or both, he supposed.

"I apologize, Remus," said Lily quietly. Remus looked at her, surprised to see the sincerity written all over her face. He hadn't meant really to snap, he just needed to think, and with their loud bantering, he couldn't practically ponder anything at all. "I didn't realize we were so rude and ignorant of you."

"Oh, he's just being…Moony," Sirius said, not being able to come up with an adjective at the moment. "Hey, Wormtail, you've been silent over there. You're not going to go all spastic on us again, are you?"

Peter jumped, having been forgotten a long time ago, and apparently off in the mind that they were somewhat shocked to see was actually doing some thought processes. "N-No, I'm not," said Peter squeakily. "Where'd Granger go? She was here just now, wasn't she?"

Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily all exchanged glances, part in mirth and part in confusion. Was he really that dense or was he jerking them around again? "Hermione left, Pete," James said slowly. Remus wasn't sure if it was to get it through to Peter or to mask his dubiousness. "A while ago. Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," Peter said. "I just—didn't notice she was gone is all."

Sirius frowned, the look not boding well for his features. "So you're either really unaware of what's going on, considering we all got up to see her, or you're joking. Rather weak if it's the latter, but…" Sirius said, question in his own voice.

"Sorry," said Peter simply. His watery eyes were darting around shiftily, but none of the rest could see anything wrong at the moment. "So what've you guys been saying, then?"

It was Remus's turn to frown as he looked at Lily, whose face was screwed up in a manner that showed her trying to figure out what was going on as well, before turning back to Peter. James and Sirius, of course, had let the matter go already, as the only grudges they could hold—apart from the brief time of the Hermione debacle—was for Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters. They had already started talking animatedly to Peter, though with all the back and forth Sirius did in talking with their weird finishing-sentence abilities, Remus couldn't exactly decipher what they were saying, instead turning to Lily again.

"What's your take on the issue?" he asked, giving her a smile.

"I don't think I could really inform you of that, Remus," she said, grinning herself, her familiar smile quite contagious. At his frown, she clarified. "You wouldn't like it."

"And why wouldn't I like it?" he asked.

"Because…" Lily started, then sighed at Remus's insistence for her to go on. "I'm not the most fond of Pettigrew over there, but I know for some reason he's your friend, and so therefore I know you wouldn't be okay with it."

Remus considered this, but looking at Lily's truly apologetic face and the way she vocalized her thoughts, he couldn't help but allow it. "Stop being protective," he said firmly, thought not exactly condescending. "Just tell me what you think. You know I value your opinion."

And it was true. Lily was one of the four smartest students in the school—James, Sirius, and Remus himself had, honestly, been the others—and their friend as well, much as she wanted to deny any amiable connections to James, Sirius, or Peter. This made her rather intuitive and able to make just about anyone like her enough to listen to her considerations, whether they were ones that that person would have enjoyed were it someone else saying them. As it was, Remus was intrigued as to hear her perceptions of Peter, and he knew that eventually she would give in, if he tried hard enough.

"You really do know how to charm a girl, don't you?" Lily said in jest.

"Not specifically my department, but I've been known to on occasion," Remus replied composedly.

Lily flashed him a smile. "Yeah…" she said distractedly. "I don't know…he just seems a bit…dodgy in my opinion. But don't be mad at me, I just…well…I don't know what exactly. I shouldn't have said anything…" She looked down abashedly.

"Don't worry about it," Remus said calmly, and Lily's eyes came up to meet his again, shame still shining, but diminished a bit.

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the oddly dim sounds of Sirius and James's fanatical, line-crossing ideas. "So, what have—er—what've you been up to lately?" Lily asked Remus gently, breaking the now threateningly permanent ice again, her soft tone genial and welcomed to him.

He was startled a bit, having been disregarded and now talked to, but settled. "Not too much," he replied, maintaining Lily's intense gaze.

"What, not up to anymore tricks? You'd better not—you can't give up the authority figure status everyone believes," she said, trying and failing to be serious about it.

Remus laughed in amusement. "Lily, no matter what I do or how old we get, Prongs and Padfoot will always continue their crazy and prankster ways. Just watch, we'll be sixty-years-old and they'll still be playing practical jokes to people and conspiring against or with each other. Much as Prongs adores you, I doubt he could ever give that up. No offense," he said, still laughing.

Lily grinned. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she conceded, suddenly looking either nervous or uncomfortable—Remus couldn't quite tell. "Where'd you get those names, anyway?"

"Names? What names?" Remus asked, frowning.

"You know, your whole 'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs' epithet," she said quietly, like she wasn't really sure she should be asking. "It my not be my place to ask, but—"

Remus put his hand on her forearm to halt her, a semblance of regret in his own silver eyes. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, Lily. I just can't."

"I understand. No, really," she insisted, seeing Remus's dubious face. "I assume whatever it is isn't the most rule-abiding subject?"

"How did you—?"

Lily giggled. "Come on, Remus," she said mirthfully. "I may not be your guys' best friend or anything, but we have been in the same school for nearly seven years. I've learned that when any of you are secretive, it means something's not exactly legal necessarily. Probably meant-well, sort of, but still frowned upon nonetheless."

"Oh," he said simply, fidgeting slightly. He cast a nervous glance to Sirius and James over the table, Sirius meeting his eyes briefly with a practically unnoticeable querying look, but then returning to his and James's conversation. "They're sort of our, erm, Patronuses," Remus said carefully.

Lily raised her eyebrows at this information—they'd studied Patronuses in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, but only a few people had done it oddly enough, Lily included. Sirius, James, Remus and Peter had refused to do so because, Lily surmised, they thought they were above such "elementary magic", and even though Lily had not even a shred of doubt that they'd be able to perform it flawlessly—well maybe not Peter—she was somewhat intrigued by Remus's saying this.

It confirmed Lily's presumptions, although she was now wondering why they were practicing Patronuses if they weren't in classes. Remus may have been one to do additional schoolwork, but James and Sirius? Lily knew that the main reason they'd even passed their classes was because of their generally good test grades and charming personalities. No one could deny that they had an uncanny adeptness at using their refined charisma to achieve their way in or out of otherwise impossible circumstances.

"What sort of Patronuses would those be?" Lily asked, not able to contain her curiosity anymore.

Remus hesitated. He shot Sirius another wary glance, who, for some reason, met his eyes right away and gave an almost imperceptible shrug, which Remus took for Sirius trusting his judgment. Remus nodded, then turned back to Lily, her eyes positively glowing in fascinated interest.

"You know who's who, I assume?" he asked, and she nodded affirmatively. "I—well—mine is—mine's a wolf, pretty much," he said cautiously. It was true—that was his Patronus. Not his Animagus form, which he knew Lily wanted him to know about, although Remus technically didn't even have that to begin with anyway. Werewolf status came without choice. "Sirius's, Padfoot's I should say, is a dog; James's is a stag, and Peter's is a rat. Happy?"

His tone was a bit more annoyed than he really meant, but she didn't seem to hold it against him. "I'll keep it a secret," Lily said earnestly, though Remus's senses were still jittering in nervousness.

"And—And why would you need to keep our Patronuses a secret?" he asked as innocently as he could.

Lily smiled again, a devious look in her eyes. "I don't know, why would I?" she said mischievously, and he hesitantly smiled—which turned out to be more of a grimace.

"Lily…" Remus started awkwardly. "I'd really like to tell you, honestly, and if it were up to me, I'd inform you of it in a heartbeat, but it's not just my decision that matters here. It's Prongs's, Padfoot's, and Wormtail's, too."

"I know," Lily said resignedly, sitting back in her chair. "Well, you can't blame me for trying. But seriously—if there's anything I can ever do to help or something; to assist you all in some manner that doesn't involve anything too illegal, then just ask me, and I'll do it."

"This isn't just to make my conscience squirm and guilt trip me into telling you?" Remus asked suspiciously. She laughed, the sound true merriment.

"Well, maybe a little," she agreed, but Remus was much appreciative of her offer anyway.

It meant a lot that she'd be willing to risk part of herself to help people she had made it her mission to despise over the years. Remus had on some instances, this one included, wondered if Lily knew more than she let on. If she knew of Remus's true DNA sequencing now—knew of his werewolf identity. She definitely was smart enough, that wasn't even in question, but he vaguely was interested in knowing if she'd deduced the whole full moon absences of his, the fact that he'd just told her his Patronus, the scars he had, and numerous other symptoms. He shivered at the thought, even though it was a comfortable temperature inside.

These very strands of ideas sent more chills down his spine, and he loosened his tie a bit. "I'm—I'm going to go get some air, okay?" he said to Lily, getting up. James and Sirius halted their discussion for long enough to look at him in question, him merely pointing out the door. They got the idea.

"Do you need any company—?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, cutting Lily's benevolent offer off. "I'll be back in a minute."

Remus got up from the table, politely draining his butterbeer beforehand and waving off Peter, James, and Sirius's questioning looks. He walked slowly out the doors, breathing in the frosty air, its iciness gripping at his lungs; oddly enough, he welcomed it. The burning sensation coursing through his chest acted like some sort of strange anesthetic, distracting him from the wild thoughts in his head.

Why had he wanted to suddenly get away from everyone? From James; Sirius; Peter; Lily? Was he destined to follow in Hermione's footsteps and bounce between pissing people off and confusing them? Was it only a matter of time before people barraged him with queries as to his change in attitude, or would they leave him alone? Knowing Sirius and James, there was no way he'd live this down quietly, and though Lily's intentions were pure, he knew she would be asking him questions as well, albeit in her own demure, well-meaning way.

"Remus?"

The voice startled him (again), causing him to look over his shoulder from his position on the cobbled street, the bar he was holding on to nearly frozen to his fingers. He'd found a spot that was fairly void of people, a rundown gate of sorts, which he was honestly surprised to find, considering it wasn't very far from The Three Broomsticks. The red hair and green eyes were vastly unmistakable even through her thick scarf, earmuffs, and ebony cloak, and he sighed.

"Lily." He said unemotionally. "I thought I said I didn't want company."

She looked slightly taken aback at his abruptness, but she ignored it. "Yes, well, I saw right through that," she said confidently. He raised an eyebrow at her claim, failing to see the logic in it. "You, Remus Lupin, may think you want to be alone, but I know better."

"Oh, do you?" he said coldly. This time there really was hurt in her eyes, and she backed away a half a step, looking at him like she'd never seen him before. He rubbed his hand wearily over his face, preparing to say something—_anything_.

"For Merlin's damn sake, Moony, Evans! I'm freezing my balls off!"

The joking yet somehow pointedly annoyed voice of Sirius was far from mistakable. He was not, like Lily, by himself, but had rather brought Peter and James with him as well, James still nursing what looked like a second round of butterbeer. Peter, quite to the contrary of his actions recently, was staring between Remus and Lily perplexedly.

"You didn't have to come out here, you know! So I'm _sorry_ if I've promoted the chilling of your extremities," Remus retorted in the same unforgiving tone as he'd given Lily.

The broad smile was wiped instantly off Sirius's face, and he and James held identical looks of shocked disbelief, studying him incredulously. "What's your problem?" Sirius asked acerbically.

"My _problem,_ Sirius, is that you people seem to have some sort of personal space violation fetish! Can't you get the hint to leave me alone? First Evans, now you two? Just bugger off!" Remus snapped angrily, his normally quiet eyes now blazing. Even Sirius looked positively stunned at Remus's outburst.

The air, while silent before, now seemed suffocating. Even through the slowly floating snow and the distant sounds of people milling about, the unnatural stillness seeped into every crevice. The rift that had been consummated starting with Remus's biting replies was suppressing everyone, threatening to overtake it all. Harsh, paralyzed stares were exchanged between the five, no one knowing who exactly to blame; it seemed they all, for some reason, suddenly harbored charges.

Finally, after what seemed a choking eternity, Lily's soft timbre broke through the barriers, or at least the silence. All eyes turned to her, Remus's especially with abnormal malice. "Please…" she said pleadingly, her gaze on Remus. His remained stoic. "Don't—Just don't …don't do this, Remus. This isn't you, this is—I don't know what this is, but it's not who you are. Whatever is wrong, you can't let it change—"

"Change what, Evans?" Remus interrupted wrathfully. Sirius and Lily gave sharp, quiet gasps of breath at his use of her last name. He never referred to her by Evans. It was Lily; always Lily. Remus ignored them. "How do you know who I am? What I am? What goes on inside of me? What do _any _of you know? Nothing! You know nothing about me! Don't pretend that you do! Especially _you_, Lily Evans—pretending to like everyone, pretending to like James and Sirius, pretending to like me. Don't start. Don't start with me! Just leave me alone!"

And so, without further outburst or action, Remus walked off into the now heavily falling snow, leaving behind a wake of anger as his form disappeared into the blinding whiteness, four very puzzled friends looking after him, knowing not what to do.

* * *

**(A/N: **_**Deathly Hallows **_**semi-spoilers start here, so if you don't want to read something that references part of the book, then skip down to where my next note will be. It won't be all that detrimental if you don't read it, so don't worry.)**

Hermione, meanwhile, had Apparated straight into the Hog's Head, the usually stoic customers barely giving her a passing glance. She walked straight and confidently up to the front, addressing the familiar (yet he wasn't in this time…in fact, he had no idea who she was) barman with a firmness she'd recently adopted. The kind that gave nothing of her personal nature away. That information was to be kept to herself.

"Aberforth?" she asked rhetorically, as she knew full well who it was. He simply stared at her, which she took as confirmation. "I need passage into Hogwarts immediately, but I cannot go through regular means. May I borrow Ariana for a moment?"

His blue eyes, so like and yet different from his brother's, showed shock for a moment, and she couldn't blame him. Far as she knew, not many people were aware of the way of passage into Hogwarts from the Hog's Head. It had been the saving grace she, Harry, Ron, and others had received in the Final Battle, and she'd been infinitely grateful.

She didn't figure she was necessarily hurting her future—Aberforth might remember her twenty years from now, possibly, but she doubted that with all his magical knowledge and observations, he would say anything about it. At least she hoped he wouldn't. Either way, she needed the passage now, and he was the only one to give it to her.

"You—You know of Ariana?" he said, his voice breaking a little, but whether it was from the pain still in his heart over the death of his sister or simple astonishment, she couldn't clearly decipher.

"Yes," she said quietly, trying to maintain patience. After all, if she couldn't persuade him, she'd get a lot of awkward questions and people to avoid if she just ran back into Hogwarts very much away from the group she'd left with. "Listen, I just have to get into the Room of Requirement, and I would prefer not to go through normal routes. I will use necessary precautions for it, but can I just please use it for a moment? It's essential."

He looked very much as though he would like to refuse right then and there, but perhaps it was the dire look on her face or his ingrained kind yet gruff nature that made him relent. "Charms first," he said.

Hermione nodded, trying hard to suppress a pleased smile. Looking around for prying eyes, she quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, feeling the bizarre liquidy sensation float down her spine and the eeriness of seeing her the same color and texture of the bar. She then put a kind of Shield Charm on the portrait and its immediate vicinity, making it seem as though she was not there at all and the portrait was not being used, should someone happen to look over there. If they did, all they would see was Aberforth, who, Hermione assumed, would be just as inconspicuously impassive as usual.

He nodded in annoyed satisfaction, and Hermione turned to the well-dressed young woman in the painting behind her, Ariana's beautiful smile greeting her. "May I go through?" Hermione asked politely.

Ariana merely smiled brightly in response, swinging forward to reveal a tunnel, one which Hermione knew the destination that, before, had been quite undesirable. Giving Aberforth one last look of thanks (he grimaced), she headed into the opening, and with Ariana's portrait closing, she was plunged into darkness. She lit the tip of her wand and headed down the dark route. After what seemed an eternity, she finally emerged into the Room of Requirement, and while it looked very different than the one Neville had created so many months ago and in a grimmer situation, she felt a bit of comfort from it nonetheless, unable to stop herself from seeing the D.A. meetings and the Final Battle congregation that had met here.

**(A/N: Spoilers end.)**

Remarkably, the Room had adapted to what she'd wanted, even though she hadn't done the customary walking three times in front of the invisible door. She supposed this was part of the magic of it and how much the user wanted it, but regardless, she was thankful. She looked around, observing her surroundings, trying to get acclimated to what this new environment was composed of.

There wasn't much furniture or lighting in the Room, and the small shafts of light that did make it through illuminated the musty dust twinkling in the air. There was a strangely intricately inlaid fireplace and a somewhat comfortable-looking couch, heavily filled bookshelves with obviously ancient tomes, and a large mirror that reflected every nuance with impossible detail. The fact that the Room wasn't all that spectacular irked Hermione—were her inner desires so dark and empty as the Room exhibited? Was it just her dank mood and attitude, or was she really that callous and cynical? She felt quite disheartened at the thought.

She sighed, about to ruminate some more on her lack of life, when something caught her eye, put into luminescence by a seemingly ethereal light. Drawn to it, she walked over trancelike, trying to make out the object. Once she did, however, she gasped in spite of herself, and she pressed her fingers up against it with longing affection. Because there, in all its pictographic, moving glory was a picture of her. Her, Harry, and Ron, in, by the looks of it, somewhere between fifth and sixth years; she couldn't really tell.

She vaguely remembered when this was taken—Colin had run up to them, per his usual zealousness, begging to take their picture. They had just been laying by their oak tree by the lake, enjoying the crispness of the air, clouds gracefully sliding across an azure sky. Reluctantly, though laughing internally, they allowed Colin to photograph them, Harry in between Hermione and Ron, who both had their arms around his shoulders, giving broad grins in spite of themselves. The Lake glistened in the background, leaves swaying and the miniature figures in the picture laughing and enjoying each other's presence like Hermione couldn't have predicted would happen too many more times.

That was the only picture of the three of them—there were a few other photographs, but those were of people Hermione both knew well and wasn't sure she knew at all. There were Lupin and Tonks, the entire Weasley family, Fleur included, Mad-Eye, Hestia Jones, and various other Order members; in the center of it all was before and after pictures of the Order of the Phoenix, the latter one substantially less occupied than the first. Hermione had to prevent herself from crying again at seeing everyone.

Not only was the first sad, Lily and James's faces smiling up at her, but the second one was, if possible, worse: Sirius with his haunted yet still beyond handsome face; an older Lupin, graying but boyishly attractive; a magnificently purple-haired Tonks; Hagrid taking up practically an entire row by himself…Hermione missed everyone. More than she thought possible. How she longed to be back in her own time. Hell, she'd almost take everyone gone compared to everyone not existing. At least in her era people would know of whom she was talking, and she could converse with the people that were still alive, the ones that knew all the horrors.

Not everyone in the Order had died; though it had taken horrific losses, there were still some left, whether or not they'd fought in the War. But now…there was no one she could talk to. Not really. Oh, she could try, but they would have no idea what she was telling them about. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all they'd know. Perhaps, she realized, that was the reason she was more than resistant to indulging Sirius, Lily, James, or Remus: even if she'd tell them, they wouldn't know what to do or what events and people she was referring. So she figured it would be better to keep silent. At least that way her memories wouldn't be contaminated with her explanations and their strange, oblivious questions. No…until they actually could truly commiserate with her, they'd best be kept in the dark.

She pressed her fingers gently to the photograph, though the figures did not react to her touch. They simply continued laughing and joking, naïveté rearing its undesirable and painful face. Instead, Hermione turned to another part of the Room where large mahogany bookshelves were filled to the brim, a fact the old Hermione would virtually faint over. But now, she wasn't sure how she felt about it, although she had felt an initial spark inside her at the innumerable books. Perhaps it was all the memories it brought back of her studying; her, Harry, and Ron researching ways for Harry to breathe underwater; Nicholas Flamel; Horcruxes…They stung her like a thousand piercing knives.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Hermione, stop being ridiculous," she chastised herself, walking now determinedly over to the nearest one. "Oh, you're pathetic," she added at her renewed reluctance to move.

Finally, she peered at the closest books, having to practically have either the inane ability to magnify things or decipher titles that were completely pulled away except for a sliver of every other letter. The ones she had no idea the title of, she moved past, going to the next row. Here she took an intake of breath. There, in all their novelistic glory, were countless stories on time travel. Time travel and the mystifying effects and possible outcomes of it.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock, she kicked herself for not thinking of this earlier—what kind of know-it-all was she? Of _course _the Room of Requirement would have these books! If she wanted them, they'd appear. She reached up to the first, brushing the centimeter-thick layer of dust off of the cover. She opened it delicately, scanning the words quickly. Unfortunately, it happened to be in quite a different language. Apparently her mind hadn't been specific enough when asking for the books.

"'_Quand chercher un chemin pour suivre, nouvel ou vieux, vous devez vous assurer qu'il n'est pas bloqué par vos barrières. Vous perdre dans la chasse. Mais est averti ; que vous trouvez ne peut pas être que vous avez cherché.' _Well, that's just maddeningly unhelpful," she muttered, taking a minute to translate the passage in her head.

They may not have offered foreign languages at Hogwarts, but she'd endeavored to learn French ever since she heard her mother speaking it one day, and it had heightened when the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic had come to visit. And for the added benefit of simply knowing another language. She was just glad she'd learned it. She wasn't an expert at the language or anything, but she could understand a fair amount, and she could understand more than she could speak. Sadly, the paragraph she'd just read went in circles and made no sense, even if it were in English. She angrily closed the book and stuffed it unceremoniously back on its shelf.

She picked up another book, which turned out to be just as useless. "What the hell is the point of this, then?" she derided, annoyed, towards no one in particular.

"Interesting group of books."

She flinched in shock at this new voice, wand brandished in half a second as she crept around the bookcase. A shadow moved into the light, and she inhaled sharply at the face. She knew it quite well. She'd suffered through five years of Potions class. He killed Dumbledore. She was now, alarmingly, in front of none other than a seventeen-year-old Severus Snape.

His hair was just as dank and greasy as ever, eyes the cruel black, his cloak setting awkwardly on his bony frame like the attire wasn't made to encase such a scrawny, Dark Arts-obsessed body that was just as slimy as the hair he carelessly abandoned.

"Snape," she hissed angrily. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in? You know what, I don't care—just get out!"

Snape merely smirked, the expression uncannily, scarily identical to his future counterpart. There was no implication of the frail, pathetic boy that Harry had described in Snape's worst memory. Was it just because Snape had been in the presence of James, Sirius, and Remus, people vastly more intelligent and popular than he was, that he was so obviously cowardly and easy to make fun of?

That, right now, however, was not her most pressing problem. What she was really bemused and dazed about was how he got in here in the first place. Malfoy had gotten through the enchantment of the Room in fifth year with Professor Umbridge, but he had pretty much known exactly what to look for; what Dumbledore's Army was. But here was Snape, how didn't know her at all, and he was very real—how could _he _have surpassed the magic of the Unknowable Room?

"Answer me, you ingratiating, filthy son of a bitch!" she yelled at him, the venom lacing her voice a complete byproduct of her fury.

"Oh, calm down…what's your name again?" It was a question, but the indifference in his tone didn't show it.

"If you don't know, then why would I tell you?" Hermione spat, her face steadily growing whiter as he lingered still longer.

"So you have come to know of the Room of Requirement, have you?" Snape asked rhetorically. Hermione glared viciously. "How, if I may, did that come about?"

"None of your damn concern, _Snivellus_. What I _do _need to know, however, is how you came to be here _with me inside_. You knew not of my presence here and yet it allowed you entrance. What is this?" she said, her level voice saturated with aggravation.

Something like mystification of his own flickered in Snape's soulless orbs. "'None of your concern,'" he mimicked her.

Yet she took this as confirmation he didn't know either. This gave her a small bit of comfort, but also a chilling dread—he'd seen the time travel books, but so far hadn't shown he knew what she was up to or _when _she was up to, which she took to be somewhat a good thing. And yet…if Snape put two and two together…what would become of her? Her future? He'd guessed Lupin's true nature of being a werewolf without practically any tangible proof, and she knew how secretive he was, and she wouldn't put anything past Snape, especially if something piqued his Dark interest. And a time-traveling Voldemort dueler had to be at the top of his list.

Hermione took a silent, deep breath, trying to contain herself and regain control. She wasn't usually like this—she was the one always with the upper hand; the one that didn't let anyone get under her skin. Part of her brain told her this was Snape, the conniving, infuriating bastard that would get an irritating rise out of anyone. He stood there still, sneer plastered on his face, Hermione wondering again what had happened to the sickly, neglected boy that was in the Pensieve. She questioned if when Sirius, Remus, and James were around again Snape would have the same cocky manner, or if he would retreat to his former self. She preferred the latter. She didn't like the late-thirties Snape, and she certainly didn't like this new yet identical one.

"Fine," Hermione said with gritted conviction, having just come up with a sudden, and, in her opinion, brilliant thought. "The you'll just be disappointed."

She screwed up her face much like Tonks did when she would change her appearance, and with a resounding short crack, she knew she'd reached her objective. Immediately, the Room emptied entirely, leaving only a single ray of light shining on both of the Room's current occupants. Snape, having not expected this, started grasping at empty air, the book having vanished without a trace with the rest of the Room's contents. And while all the necessary things for Hermione to possibly figure out her dilemma were gone for the moment now, too, the livid look on Snape's face was priceless. It was her turn to smirk.

"Sorry," she said, quite insincerely. "My bad."

Snape's face morphed to a sneer of his own once more, but Hermione kept hers as well. "Don't get too confident," he said snidely. "I can just get all of these back later if I feel like it."

"Oh no you can't," Hermione said happily. "That's part of what I told it. From now forth, I am the only one who may access these books. All you will get if you try it is—well…let's just say you will have wished you'd not done it."

And with that, she departed the Room jauntily, the impossibly amusing look on Snape's face planted firmly in her mind. Once she left the Room, the door turning invisible (since even though Snape was still inside, it technically belonged to him now and shut her out), and she was left in a disturbingly deserted hallway. She, carefully looking around and casting the _homenus revelio _spell just in case, she reached into the bag she'd been carrying and pulled out a book. A very specific book. Because just before she'd seen Snape in the Room, she'd grabbed a promising-looking novel, Shrunk it, and placed it hastily yet reverently in her sack, knowing she might need it later. To be honest, she had no idea whether it was any good or not or would supply information that would be useful, and it was quite a shot in the dark, but she figured if she shot enough, blackness or not, she was bound to find something.

* * *

Well, I hope this was a good enough chapter for you all, and that it wasn't too short. I'd've made it longer, but it seemed like a good stopping point. As always, if you have any suggestions or requests, please review or PM me. Thanks. 

Specific appreciations to:

Aly Martin, RannyBabiiex3, and The Almighty Cheez It (though I'm still dubious on the whole SnapeHermione deal……hah).


	13. Frustration

_As you read this, I anticipate you're thinking one of two things: "Holy shit, she's alive!" or "You suck, you haven't updated in half a year, I've given up on you." Both you would be correct. I am sure you hate reading author profuse apologies, and, at least in my opinion, none needs more to apologize than I. However, I will spare you the undoubtedly false-seeming (though they wouldn't be) apologies, as those won't make up for how unfaithful I've been to you. What's more, this chapter isn't even the highest word-count, which I'd hoped to top. All that being said, I hope you can forgive me at least a little bit, and perhaps even enjoy this chapter. The unfortunate part of it is that I have no idea when I can update again…please know this is not because I'm lazy or abandoning you, but because I've not the clear-cut chapters in my head as I once had. So I'm making this up as I go. If you happen to have any ideas, I'd be immensely grateful to hear them, but I would be deserving of no more if you refrained. Thank you, though, for those who have read, or are still reading: you make my self-deprecation that much lighter._

* * *

**Death Sat and Hell Followed**

_Chapter Thirteen: Frustration_

* * *

Remus walked sullenly through the streets of Hogsmeade, ignoring the seemingly increasing coldness as his breath came in firm-looking clouds in front of him; his face had turned numb a few minutes ago, but he was too distracted to care. Now that he had cooled off (no pun intended, he thought cynically) since his encounter with James, Sirius, Lily, and Peter, he had become quite frustrated and miserable, but this time it was at himself.

He had so many questions as to his sudden behavior—what had gotten into him? It was like some curse had overtaken him, subduing his own actions and inhibitions and replaced them with malevolent, angry ones.

He couldn't erase the look of shock on Sirius's and especially Lily's face when he'd yelled at them. James and Peter's faces had been more impassive, which he now attributed to beyond visible emotion. And still…the look he'd bestowed upon two of his friends' expressions…it pained him.

He stopped and sat down against some shop's wall, ignoring the ice that was bequeathing its cold on his robes. He stared listlessly out in front of him, snowflakes embedding their crystalline selves rapidly in his hair and adding more snow to the already white road. He sighed deeply, wondering how in the world he got himself into these situations.

Usually he was the rational, neutral, levelheaded one; James and Sirius were the spontaneous, loud-mouthed ones. Yet it had been he, Remus, who just exploded. Maybe it was Hermione's volatile, confusing actions that had rubbed off on him. Yes, of course that was it.

"I'm an idiot," he said despondently, rolling his eyes at himself in self-deprecating patronization and running his hand through his now ice-ridden hair. "What've I done?"

Feeling he would get nothing sitting here except hypothermia and frostbite, he stood up, brushed some of the snow off his robes, and headed towards the castle. A shower and the fireside, he surmised, might be able to do him well. He took a last glance behind him to see if maybe, maybe, one of his friends had still been staring after him, but all he saw was a solid-looking barrier of falling snow, the few people still outside having turned to mere indiscernible shadows.

Sighing once more, he headed off in the direction of the school again, not exactly sure what he'd do there, but it was better than freezing to death, contemplating his so far mistake of a life.

"Well, that was different," said Peter. It was one of the longest sentences he'd said lately, but the others were too occupied in their own minds to think about anything else.

"Oh, why did he do that? Why?" Lily asked in desperate misery to Sirius and James.

Neither answered, Sirius's face staring into the blinding whiteness surrounding them. There were a few moments of utter silence before James spoke up with a determinedly stoic voice. "Well, I'm going to go see. Excuse me," he said brusquely.

Without further explanation, James Apparated, most likely as close to Hogwarts as he could get, dwindling the number he left behind to three friends from the previous six. At James's unemotional leaving, Lily let out a dry sob and flung her arms around Sirius, he being the best option of consolation at the moment. She figured since neither James nor Remus was here and Sirius seemed solemn enough, he was as good a choice as any.

He seemed quite surprised at first—after all, Lily hadn't really every shown him any genial feelings before; it was usually just caustic banter or full-fledged skirmishes—but then he awkwardly put his arms around her waist in a semi-friendly closer to uncomfortable hug.

"Sirius," she said despairingly, her voice slightly muffled in his chest. "Why has everything suddenly turned for the worst? First Hermione then Remus, then James…? Everyone's leaving and not just…being there, and I just—oh, I just don't know what to do! How are you so calm? How are you just dealing with this?"

"I don't know, Lily," Sirius said finally, his breath, too, coming in white clouds. "Prongs may be moody or annoying sometimes, so will I as you very well know, but Moony never is. I don't know what the problem is. I mean, it's not even the full—" Sirius's eyes widened over Lily's shoulder at his slipup. If she noticed…he wouldn't be the only one who'd be screwed. Lily took her head away from him, and he swallowed in anticipation. "What?" he asked, seeing her curious eyes.

"You called me Lily," she said in amazement.

He internally sighed in relief. She hadn't caught it, or at least hadn't shown that she had. He was safe for now. "Yeah, well…" he said slowly. "That is your name, isn't it? I figure I might as well address you by it, don't you think?"

Lily maintained her surprise, but then she smiled, stepping completely away from him. "Yes, I appreciate it," she replied with satisfaction. "Thanks."

Sirius merely gave her a small smile in reply, bringing his hands up to his mouth and blowing on them, trying to get the meager heat of his breath to warm them up, but Lily got the shrewd suspicion it did absolutely nothing. She, herself, was feeling quite chilled, even through the multiple layers she had on, plus the gloves, scarf, cloak, and hat she was wearing.

She looked at Peter briefly, and rolled her eyes: he was being as oblivious as usual, and she wondered vaguely what had happened to make him suddenly changed…before he was a nuisance and pathetic, but now he was just vacant and not paying attention. She didn't spend much time ruminating on it, but it still now resided in a dusty shelf in the very back corner of her mind.

* * *

Hermione looked around the still desolate hallway—the seventh floor corridor across from, she remembered, seeing the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and having a brief flashback to first year…that was so long ago—and started walking to one end of it, her shoes echoing off the walls in a steady, eerie rhythm. Reaching the end (and yet again wondering why there was no one here), she peered out, seeing all the moving staircases and, down below, the beautifully inlaid Entrance Hall.

She walked to the nearest door, looked in, and realized why people were so absent. They were either at Hogsmeade, eating in the Great Hall, or in their common rooms playing Exploding Snap or the like. And yet that could work to her advantage. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her and Snape coming from not only the same corridor, but the same room. She shuddered at the thought.

She stepped out of the hallway, planning to maybe figure out what she was going to do for her time here. Lately, it'd been filled with so many distractions, whether in the forms of excursions, complications, Sirius in a category himself; she hadn't really got much of a chance to contemplate her situation. Now that Lily, Peter, Sirius, Remus, and James were still in Hogsmeade, hopefully she'd be able to figure this out. If all went well and as intended.

Hermione started walking past some classrooms and staircases and portraits, deciding she'd take not the direct route to Gryffindor Tower but a different, less traveled route, if nothing else than to try and clear her mind before she spent it on the sanity-testing confusion that encompassed the mystique of time travel.

It was in these thoughts that she was buried so deep she barely noticed when she ran into something very large and very solid, only really comprehending when she hit the floor. "Ow…" she grumbled, standing up awkwardly.

She started to reach for her wand, which she vaguely wondered as to the reason she hadn't whipped it out before, but a voice (presumably to the person she'd run into) stopped her. "Don't bother," it said, tone deep, but with an air of aristocracy, malevolence, and sarcasm.

"And who exactly might you be? Who are you to tell me whether I should curse you or not?" she snapped. She really was not in the mood for this. Her mind was on one track towards her goal, and the last thing she needed was some immature brat blocking her from her destination.

He smiled, mouth curved into a sneer, and held out his hand to her. She ignored it, but there was something familiar creeping into his face that she couldn't quite put a finger on at the moment. She shrugged that off as well, assuming that with all the death she'd seen, her mind was always looking for new faces to assign previous memories to. "I am Alexei Dolohov. Seventh year Slytherin, and I believe you shouldn't be wandering the halls all by yourself when it's this deserted. Something might happen."

Hermione's face paled a few shades at this information. She could remember fifth year's battle all too well. Subconsciously, she ran her hand over her chest, where she knew a faint scar resided. One that, even with Muggle or magical treatment, would not go away. Magic inflicted by a Dark curse didn't go away.

"Dolohov?" Hermione asked quietly. "As in Antonin Dolohov?"

Alexei narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and gave Hermione a once-over. "Who's asking?" he said, apparently dropping his previous trying-to-flirt persona.

"That's not important," Hermione retorted. As she looked at him closer, she wondered why she hadn't noticed the scarily identical attributes that Alexei had to, presumably, his father. "What is important, however, is that you get the hell out of my way. Because whatever rumors you've heard about the way I treat people I don't know? They're probably true. And so unless you want to end up like them, I suggest you make yourself scarce."

To Hermione's chagrin, Alexei merely smirked, causing his expression to morph to one hauntingly similar to the one Antonin developed right before he cursed her. A similarity that caused Hermione's memory to overcome her conscious.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted, right as the second nameless Death Eater had raised his wand. At Harry's well-placed spell, the Death Eater's legs and arms snapped rigid to his body and met the floor a second later, face smashed into the rug at Harry's feet.

Fighting was waging still all around her, but Hermione took a half second to congratulate Harry, one that also contained a thanks for subduing him. Her smile faded, however, as she turned back to face the attacker she'd just silenced. Beneath his mask, she saw a sickly-sweet smirk, and before she could do anything, he mouthed a string of words.

She barely saw his wand slash through the air before the fire consumed her body. With every invisible strike, she felt a shot of pain course through every vein, every capillary in her body with the force of a thousand flaming knives. She saw stars in her eyes and her brain from the agony—she couldn't even scream for how much the curse anguished her—and she blacked out, only able to form a small "oh!" in the comatose shock her body fell into.

It was a very strange type of coma; Hermione had read all about them, and though she'd never fallen into one before, this was not how she imagined it. She heard the sounds of battle all around her still, though they were muted somehow, like her body was encased in a thin pillow.

"HERMIONE!" She heard Harry shout her name, and she tried to answer him to tell him she was okay—well, okay in the sense she wasn't dead—but her brain wouldn't cooperate. She had a sinking feeling that had something to do with the curse the Death Eater had cast upon her.

She felt the rug next to her sink down slowly and surmised Harry had fallen to his feet beside her. She felt his cool, trembling hand brush a stray bit of hair away from her face, but, again, she was rendered unable to make any movement. A second later, Harry was pulled up by his cloak—gently, but urgently—and she mentally wished he would come back to her, selfish as she knew it was.

As Harry left her, she had one last thought, and that was that she hoped she would come out of whatever the strange catatonia was. That Harry would save her like he always did. That the Death Eater, the one she thought she'd incapacitated, would not come back for her.

"—distracted stupidly, too?" Alexei's voice cut through her painful memory, his sneering tone now seeming insignificant and annoying.

She managed to roll her eyes, feeling a tingling sensation across her chest in the recollection of the attack, and put her hand on Alexei's shoulder in a pseudo-kind, but condescending, gesture. "Alexei," she began benevolently. "get over yourself. You'll never be more than an ego-centric, unthreatening, moronic son of a Death Eater, and you don't deserve to talk to me, okay? So before I curse you into oblivion, I am going to walk away, take the high road, whatever proverb you'd like to insert here. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay here or go somewhere else, and never bother me, all right? I'll not be seeing you later."

Alexei's smirk froze in place, as if slightly taken aback by her sudden change in attitude. She imagined he was looking more forward to taunting her when she fought back, not when she was being insultingly amiable. Despite the five inches he had on her, she reached up and patted his head as if he were merely a misbehaving toddler.

With that, she walked away, stowing her wand and congratulating herself on her self-restraint. This definitely deserved an acerbic, scathing remark or two in the future, but she'd have to choose when the most opportune time to use it was. Now, she realized, was not it. Not on someone who only lived to put people under duress for the fun of it.

As Remus stared into the crackling fire up in the common room, he couldn't help but think it was both artistic and infuriating. With the obvious magical air about it, there was a beginning of a novel right in the making. On the other hand, when he was in a mood such as the current one, its innocence was simply annoying.

He ripped off a piece of parchment that he held in his hand, balled it up, and threw it in the fire to join the others he'd flung. The purple ink that had been written on it caused the flames to glow a bright magenta for a second before they spluttered and then engulfed the parchment, curling the paper into little spirals.

It was at times like these he wished Hogwarts didn't even have Hogsmeade weekends in the first place. It meant practically no one—except measly first and second years, and those who didn't get permission—was in the castle, let alone in their common rooms. He'd give practically anything to have some rambunctious activity right now.

Instead, as if he was being punished, he was eerily alone. The crisp, wintry wind blew menacingly outside, sending leaves and branches flurrying into the air and into the faces of unsuspecting students or townspeople.

His mind, at the moment, was a very unhealthy, unwanted place to be. With no one around to distract him, he was at full mercy of his thoughts, which now contained none of the scholastic knowledge, but rather plotting jibes. Nabs at his conscience for blowing off his friends in the town, for blowing off Hermione and Lily, even when they'd done nothing wrong.

He'd made quite a mess of it all, and it was definitely a foot-in-mouth moment he wished he could take back. He hadn't even known the exact reason why he had departed so rudely. He had, of course, tried to reflect on his motives earlier that afternoon, but now that his body temperature was hovering at a reasonable ninety-nine-point-four degrees, his mind was substantially more thawed and, thus, more able to fully concentrate.

He stared at the portrait hole, wishing with all his being that someone would come through. Anyone. He'd even take a clueless first year over this silence. Of course, he'd prefer one of his friends to go and occupy his time, but that seemed a futile hope, given the circumstances. They probably, he surmised, weren't even missing him much. After all, Sirius and James often had bouts like the one Remus was having, and everyone just ignored it. Because it always burned itself out in the end and they would all forgive each other and subconsciously wait for the next mood swing to happen.

Hence Remus's thoughts that they were all having a lovely butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, Hermione perhaps giving a rare smile, Lily's cheeks gaining a blush at something James or Sirius said, whether it was a strange compliment or a joke. Perhaps Peter saying one of his few-and-far-between intelligent comebacks. But certainly, no one would be truly regretting Remus's absence.

Getting more frustrated by the minute, Remus's temper finally flared and he pointed his wand aggravatingly at the fire. "AGUAMENTI!" he yelled, and a jet of water shot out from the wood, immediately dousing the fire.

It looked rather defeated at its non-ignited state, despite the occasional spark that resulted from the remaining heat. Remus sat down again, thoroughly satisfied with his work. The embers still glowed faintly, but the majority of the heat—and therefore oddly conscience-berating flames—was obliterated.

He sighed grandly, and, as if on cue, the portrait hole opened. The air rushed out of his lungs as his attention immediately whisked over to the door, anxious as to whom it might be. He expected one of the younger students, and was completely prepared to dismiss them, in spite of his wanting to have human contact—any human contact.

And so it was to his great surprise when Hermione happened to make her way through the awkwardly-placed entrance, her face impassive, but her eyes full of a flustered frustration. Remus imagined his own silver eyes looked the same, if his most recent feelings were any indication. She hadn't noticed him sitting there—probably due to how statue-still he'd managed to stay—but then her gaze looked forward, and she took in his presence, depression still in full overload.

Walking towards him with a subtle grace he hadn't observed before, she sat down across from him silently, studying his face. "Hello, Remus," she said simply.

"Hey," he replied coldly, not exactly meaning the overly detached tone he managed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he stared incredulously at her. Was she not at the same table when he administered his outburst? She clarified at seeing the astoundment, her mouth turned up into a grimace-like smile. "I just mean, is there anything more that's an issue?"

His first instinct was to shy away and bend the truth, like he usually did when people got too nosy, but then he remembered her own distressed (to say the least) past, and he realized this compassion was a stretch for her. From the little she'd told him, she hadn't had much of that compassion lately, owing to the fact that everyone in her life had died, had been murdered. He flinched.

"Not really." He said harshly. He groaned aloud at himself for being so cold, and rephrased. "I'm just deliberating. Reflecting on how much of an ass I was."

"Well, I can't really argue with that," Hermione said, the same half-smile on her face. "If it's any consolation, I was civilized to a son of a murderer just now."

Remus frowned in dubiety. "How, pray tell, is that a consolation?" he questioned, thoroughly confused. "I'm at a loss."

Hermione managed a humorless chuckle. "Because my normal reaction would be to do to him what I did to Peter on our first meeting, if you remember," she said. Remus snorted a laugh. Like he could forget Hermione's attempted murder. "It was a reaction I don't usually have to someone who taunts me. Since your normal reactions are to be kindhearted and forgiving but you're now sullen and malevolent, I figure my being opposite should be a consolation."

Remus's brow furrowed even further, sending him into a state of complete puzzlement. "What are you talking about?" he asked. He was really not in the mood for riddles.

Hermione hesitated. "Just—I guess just that I think we're a lot more similar than we'd thought. Our methods and intents are different, but the ends are the same."

Remus mulled this over for a few moments. He supposed she was right—she did have future knowledge after all—but he didn't want to completely succumb to whatever she said. She may have years and years of more information than he, but that didn't mean by any standards that she was more familiar with this time than he was. She hadn't lived it.

"Hermione, I know you're just trying to help, but I really just don't think you can help here," Remus said. He'd wanted to say it nicely enough, but he had a hard time quelling his temper.

Hermione looked like she had her own temper to contain just then, but she, too, settled it. "Yeah, you're probably right," she conceded reluctantly, offering a grimace. "I guess being Future Girl only goes so far, huh."

She stood up, about to walk away, before coming to some sort of sudden thought. On a whim, it seemed, she leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, right above his jawline. It was a trite more than a simple friend gesture—Remus could hardly be classified as a run-of-the-mill acquaintance to her—but not so much to suggest anything more.

She departed then, presumably to go to her bedroom to muse some more, and Remus looked out the window, absently touching his cheek. The white snowflakes swirled outside, creating a solid-looking sheet, the beauty of it masking the biting cold and blizzarding conditions it actually made.

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking on what Hermione had said. It was time to make amends. Problem was, for quite possibly the first time in his life, he had no idea how to go about it.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Hogsmeade, four of the normally large group was sitting troublingly from the most recent events that had occurred. None had seen before that side of Remus; they'd seen it from Hermione, but it was still a little surprising when she had outbursts.

Lily was having her own issues internally, though she tried to keep a hesitant smile on her face—which she wasn't completely sure didn't come out as a grimace. She glanced subtly over to Sirius, who was now nursing a firewhiskey. Madam Rosmerta—the busboy of sorts at the time, as there was already a regular bartender—had apparently relented on his front, and Lily had a feeling it might've had something to do with the departure of Remus. Even Rosmerta knew how deep their friendship ran.

"Plastered yet, Sirius?" Lily asked idly, her voice calm but still reprimanding.

He flashed her a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, and then spitefully took a large drink of the alcohol. Even he grimaced slightly at the fiery flavor. "Nah, still got a few shots more to do. Think I should get something a little stronger now that Rosmerta's got to serving me?"

"No, I most certainly do not!" Lily snapped back. She already knew how a drunk Sirius could be. She definitely did not want a drunk and emotionally wounded Sirius on her hands. She turned reluctantly to Peter. He had a water. "What, no liquor for you?"

Peter started, sloshing about half his drink down his shirt. Even Lily suppressed a giggle, though Sirius was substantially less discreet. "N-No, I don't do well with alcohol," he said sheepishly.

Sirius let out an echoing laugh, trying very hard to make comprehensible words come out through it. "You—You shoulda seen him at the Quidditch Final last year, Lils!" Sirius rumbled. She'd stayed in the school, figuring a huge stadium full of jocks wasn't the most entertaining. "We gave him a quarter of a goblet of firewhiskey, and bam! He was ridiculous, spilling the most humiliating stories! It was funny as hell!"

Peter scoffed and the color visibly drained out of his face. "It most certainly was not funny!" he objected. Lily snickered, Sirius joining in with a much higher decibel of laughter. "Stop laughing!"

Lily and Sirius exchanged a glance, which only served the both of them to lapse into another fit of roaring sniggers. Oxygen was quickly becoming hard to come by due to their giggles, and Lily had to concentrate hard in order to stop herself for as long as it took to take a quick breath. The way Sirius's face was turning redder, it seemed he wasn't having as much luck.

"S-Sirius, br-breathe!" Lily managed, still overcome with mirth. "Oxy-Oxygen is usually im-im-important!"

Sirius was obviously not getting any better. Peter still sulked, muttering under his breath. Lily got the impression he was trying to go with profanities, but his self-censorship didn't allow for it.

Fearing slightly for Sirius's life, Lily pointed her wand at him. "Subsisto," she said. A shimmering orange light shot out and hit Sirius square in his chest. He stopped immediately.

It was a second or two before he actually caught his breath, and he was rubbing his chest where the spell had hit. "Thanks, Lils," he replied, his normal color starting to come back. "I owe you one."

"Oh, you owe me a lot more than one, Sirius Black," Lily scolded. She was long since over her own laughing fit. "Or haven't you been paying attention the last seven years?"

Sirius gave her a crooked smile and he snorted in disbelief. "Lily, Lily, Lily, you know your years at Hogwarts wouldn't' have been half as fun without me messing with your head!"

"What, like James isn't enough of a nuisance?" she retorted, an image of his bright hazel eyes creeping into her mind.

Sirius scowled—he apparently didn't like to be thought of as James outshining him. "James Michael Potter is just the appetizer, dear one," he said in his form of seriousness.

"And you're the main course?"

"That I am."

"Then what are Peter and Remus?" Lily asked. She was rather amused this charade was still going on. Peter was still guzzling his butterbeer, judging by the slurping sounds next to her, and Lily had a feeling she'd get nauseated if she looked at him.

Sirius considered her question a moment before inspiration struck. "Why, Peter is just that pesky little plat du jour," he replied. "You know, the one your waiter tells you all about but no one ever orders?"

Lily suppressed a giggle. Peter scowled. "And Remus?"

"He's that pesky little dessert menu they give you after everyone is clearly full from dinner," Sirius said.

"They're both pesky? Remus is far from pesky!" Lily objected playfully. She noted James hadn't been labeled as such, and she chalked it up to him being Sirius's best friend. She hoped.

"Oh, but of course," Sirius concurred. He looked around the bar then, realizing it had started to get dark outside and the more shady characters were coming in. He himself wasn't wary, but he knew Lily probably would be when she noticed. "So…what do you say we blow this popsicle stand? No double entendres intended, dear Lily."

She glared at him for his perverse comment, but agreed. Sirius put some Galleons down on the table and waved to Rosmerta, giving her some obscene "compliment." Peter blinked, then joined them awkwardly, nearly tipping over his chair in the process. Sirius set it upright.

"Ladies first," Sirius offered courteously, his bow over-exaggerated. Lily rolled her eyes, but stepped out into the still-snowing street, mumbling a thanks to him and cursing her mother's rules of thanking people no matter how annoying they were.

Sirius let the door fall back upon Peter's face, and he and Lily shared another laugh at his expense, seeing his now bruised nose. Sirius proffered his arm to her—again overdoing it—and she sighed in defeat, giving in to his antics. She wasn't sure if Peter joined them afterwards, but she assumed so. Either way, she wasn't very concerned. If he hadn't been following them, she acknowledged someone would go looking for him. Eventually.

It was a few moments later when Peter piped up, Lily answering her previous, unimportant query of whether he had been with them. She couldn't say she really missed his grating, high-pitched voice. She heard Sirius sigh beside her dramatically, and she tried to quell her irritation.

"Padfoot, why am I a plat du jour?" Peter whined, drastically mispronouncing the name.

Sirius cringed and stopped, turning to look behind him without letting go of Lily's arm. "First of all, Wormie, it's pronounced 'plah-doo-zhoor', not 'platt-duh-jorr.' And secondly, you're a pesky plat du jour. Because you tend to start speaking after people have started talking without you, and no one really enjoys what you say."

Lily frowned. Though she had her own baleful thoughts towards Peter occasionally in her head, she'd never heard Sirius berate him quite so badly before. She wondered why the change.

"Sirius, really," Lily interrupted, trying to diffuse the situation. "It's just a question. No need to explode."

Sirius deflated and looked at her then. "Fine. Whatever." He agreed sullenly. "But next time he says something stupid, don't let me restrain myself."

Peter looked putout, but didn't say anything further. Wisely, in Lily's opinion. She patted Sirius's shoulder before starting to walk again. "Come on. Let's just get back , okay?"

"Fine with me," Sirius replied snappishly. He had half a mind to go trudging back to school himself without escorts, but figured Lily was already in distress over past company departing. And so, with an internal grimace, he slowed his pace to match hers as they waited for the castle's turrets to come into view.

* * *

James found himself outside the Transfiguration classroom a few minutes after Apparating, his muscles protesting weakly from the walk from the edge of Hogwarts up to the gates. He'd insisted to the carriages at the end of Hogsmeade—the carriages being the usual mode of transportation for visitors and villagers—that he would manually get to Hogwarts, needing some time to think. His head was slightly aching now, and he wondered if Madam Pomfrey would bypass her usual painkillers (which, considering she was a school nurse and thus not supposed to give out recreational spells that weren't mandatory to good health) and give him some good, old-fashioned, Muggle aspirin. There weren't any rules against that, were there?

He had meant, he remembered, to try and reason with Remus. He was often the only person able to get through to the werewolf, since Sirius was rarely non-joking in situations like Remus was in now, Peter would make everything worse, and Lily would come across as too compassionate. No…what Remus needed at the moment was a hit on the back of the head, some swearing, and maybe some smuggled—and spiked—butterbeer.

Wistfully still wishing he could have a few pills of the analgesic, he started to walk off in the general direction of Gryffindor tower, when a serene, all-knowing voice stopped him in his tracks. He avoided the groan of annoyance that was tickling his throat; he figured it wouldn't be in good form to show disrespect to the almost-Headmaster. Slowly, he turned around to face the infuriatingly calm face of Dumbledore.

"H-Hello, Professor," he said weakly, not really wanting to have a conversation with the old man.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore replied. "May I inquire as to your reasons for being out late?"

James looked around, realizing all the torches were lit, portraits were snoring, and the sky was a dull navy-purple, signaling that it was well past sunset. And curfew. "Oh…" he stuttered. He hadn't acknowledged how late they'd actually stayed in Hogsmeade. He winced at what Lily, Sirius, and Peter would endure. "I'm sorry, Professor, I had no idea as to the time. I was…caught up in the village."

It was technically true—he just didn't really want to indulge the reasons yet. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, to James's annoyance. "Ah, I see," Dumbledore replied airily. Why does he do that? James lamented.

"See what?"

Dumbledore ignored his question. "Is there something about which you wish to talk, Mr. Potter?" he asked. James frowned. What was he getting at?

"Sir, I'm not quite sure I know what you mean," James replied truthfully. "There really isn't anything plaguing my mind at the moment."

It was a blatant lie, but James assumed his face didn't give much away. What he hadn't counted on was Dumbledore's seemingly precognitive observations. "You're certain about that?" Dumbledore inquired knowingly.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I really should be getting to bed," James said crossly. He tried to quell his temper, and wished once more that he had two small little pills to swallow.

He turned to go, but Dumbledore wasn't quite finished. "Wait one moment, Mr. Potter," he said, the slight edge to his voice alerting James.

"Sir?"

"I have a few questions, if you'll so indulge me," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps this should be continued in my office…"

James wasn't sure what Dumbledore was getting at, but he didn't want to push his luck with escaping trouble. He nodded and followed his professor through a hallway or two, arriving at the two gargoyles within minutes. Dumbledore muttered the password, and before he knew it, James was sitting across Dumbledore in a plush armchair, a desk separating the two men.

"You had a question, Sir?" James asked, as the professor hadn't spoken.

"Yes," Dumbledore affirmed. He carefully leaned forward, pressing his hands together. "How much do you know about a lovely girl named Hermione Granger?"

To say James expected this would have been the biggest overstatement of the century. Needless to say, he was more than taken aback. "Pardon me?" James sputtered. "Hermione?" Dumbledore said nothing, but looked at James expectantly. James frowned, wracking his brain for information. Then his face relaxed in realization. "I…I guess not very much at all… Just that she, er, she lost two friends from home and she has a very apparent anger management problem…she doesn't much like Peter."

"You're sure that's it?" Dumbledore prodded.

"I—" James started, then mentally slapped himself. He'd forgotten the hugest secret he'd learned from her. He wondered if Dumbledore would believe him. "I…I suppose there is something else, Sir." Dumbledore waited. "I don't really know how to say this, but…well, she said…she's claimed she's from the future, Sir."

To James's astonishment, Dumbledore didn't look surprised. He felt a sudden surge of anger; was he the last one to know everything? Had Hermione told everyone close to him her secret way before him? It was unfair. Even more so because he would've thought his friends could tell him anything, regardless of whether or not it was theirs to reveal.

"I see," Dumbledore said contemplatively.

James cleared his throat. "Er…see-see what, Sir?" he asked tentatively.

Dumbledore looked at him oddly. "I simply find it quite telling that Miss Granger has confided in you. She seemed rather adamant to not tell anyone when she first came."

"It's not just me," James rectified. "She's told Sirius, Remus, Peter, and potentially Lily."

Dumbledore was strangely offset by this. James found that appalling. "She's told all of you?" he asked.

James nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, Sir," he repeated. Then he hesitated, coming to another realization. "She's also…she's also changed recently. Been a little nicer. Or, at least she's not ready to commit multiple homicides on a whim."

"Hmm…that's very interesting," Dumbledore said again. James was getting more and more confused. What is so 'interesting'? he mused. "To clarify, Miss Granger has only informed you that she is from the future and nothing else, correct?"

"Not quite, Professor," James contradicted. "She's also mentioned a Harry James Potter, which caught my attention, naturally. I've asked her about it on our recent visit to Hogsmeade, but she evaded it. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

The Professor opened his mouth once, then closed it, and James could practically see the cogs working in his brilliant mind. He was trying to gauge Dumbledore's thoughts, but found it a futile effort. His face was a careful mask of stone, which both intrigued and infuriated James. What was Dumbledore hiding? And why wouldn't he share it with him?

"I'm afraid not…" Dumbledore trailed. James narrowed his eyes at him. "I do not know what she was talking about."

"With all due respect, Sir, I think you're lying to me," James persisted, not one to be thrown off the trail easily. He'd allotted Hermione some evasion, but he didn't want to take any more.

Dumbledore peered at him through his glasses, and for a moment, James thought he might actually be uncharacteristically sharp with him. But, on the contrary, Dumbledore sighed resignedly. "My dear boy, I do believe you're right," he acknowledged.

James wanted to gape in shock at this, but withheld it. Not while he had the upper hand. "Professor, why is it such a secret? Nothing could be more secret than her being from he future, could it?"

"Mr. Potter, sometimes things are hidden not because they are a secret, but because they are too painful for multiple parties to know," Dumbledore said in his (James thought) infuriatingly philosophical voice. "I believe Ms. Granger has kept this from you and your friends because she finds it much to harsh for any one of you to find out."

James mulled this over for a few minutes. He wasn't sure exactly what kind of thing Hermione would feel was too "harsh" for him and everyone else to know. He'd had a hard time enough wrapping his mind around how she could be from a further year than he--despite how flippant he'd been with the news, internally he had been hard-pressed to understand--and now apparently she had another, darker, event or thing that, regardless of what Dumbledore said, was the biggest secret yet.

"I don't suppose you would allow me to try and find out what it is..." James tried with a fleeting hope.

Dumbledore looked at him brusquely. "You are right in that," he said sternly, and James's small bit of possibility faded. "Mr. Potter, she may have been here for a while, but she has gone through much more than even I could fathom. She has tried to explain it to me, but I am still not sure she has expressed the full gravity of what happened. Unless she volunteers the information to you, I must impress upon you and everyone else that knows of her past--or future, as it were--to not address this."

James nodded mutely, but inside he wasn't so agreeing. Whatever Dumbledore said he wanted to take into account, but he also wanted to find out more about her. And James was nothing if not one who could figure out anything...Hermione was his hardest challenge yet, but he vowed to, somehow, discover what _really_ had happened to her.

* * *

_Well, there it is, in all its short and undeserving glory. If you have any suggestions, comments, flames, or errors, please don't hesitate to comment/PM me. Never has an author needed to thank her reviewers and readers more. So for all of those who did, thank you so much. I am even more grateful towards these fine people for keeping their faith in me:_

**CSI Junkie Aly****, ****devilsangelny02****, ****veasley-veasley-krum****, ****annonymous****, ****prettyHermione****, ****LastToFirst****, and my dear friend Laura, who's never faltered in her assurances to me.**


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